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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



















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Betsy Hassway 





Zhc Bell Cow 

BY 

Bryant E. Sherman 



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The C. M. Clark Publishing Company 

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 

1900 



LIBRARY of 00!VC5RESS| 
Two R'.'CPived j 

DEC 18 1908 

(S CopiiU'it r.,->try ^ 
CLASS AXc, So. 

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CwY di I 


Copyright, 1908 

THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO, 
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
U. S. A. 


All Rights Reserved 





CONTENTS 


Chapter I page 

The Tinkle of the Bell 1 

Chapter II 

The Arrival of Willie Wooster 9 

Chapter III 

Getting Acquainted 18 

Chapter IV 

The Starkweather House 26 

Chapter V 

The Passing of Hiram Skinner 35 

Chapter VI 

The Forest Fire 42 

Chapter VII 

Betsy’s Fruitless Errand 61 

Chapter VIII 

The First Day at School 75 

Chapter IX 

A Morning Visit 97 

Chapter X 

The Wild Man 108 

Chapter, XI 

Loneliness . ' 118 

Chapter XII 

The Warm Sugar Social and a Call from Mrs. 

Smithers 125 

Chapter XIII 

Mrs. McGinn’s Disgrace 138 


Chapter XIV page 

The New Hope 147 

Chapter XV 

The Berry Patch 154 

Chapter XVI 

Betsy Hassway’s Announcement 166 

Chapter XVII 

Christopher 173 

Chapter XVIII 

Arranging for the Wedding 181 

Chapter XIX 

The Arrival of Christopher 191 

Chapter XX 

Patience 205 

Chapter XXI 

The Wedding 209 

Chapter XXII 

A Voice in the Night 221 

Chapter XXIII 

A Light in the Darkness 229 

Chapter XXIV 

The Last Day 236 

Chapter XXV 

Little Manda’s Party 242 

Chapter XXVI 

On the Turnpike 251 

Chapter XXVII 

The Rose Arbor » 261 

Chapter XXVIII 

Through the Meadowland . 267 

Chapter XXIX 

Thanksgiving Night 278 


I LLUSTR ATIONS 


Betsy Hassway . Frontispiece 

PAGE 


'"Got any trunk?” “No; just this” — the lad held 
up a small shoebox 

“Aunt Betsy!” came a low call through the darkness 50 ^ 

As she turned into the driveway she beheld 

Mr. Hutton sitting on the old horseblock . . 62' 

She followed the children out and stood watching 

them as they trudged down the path . . . . 154 / 

“See um cornin' 'crost the medder, my tew sweet- 
hearts: Nine and Sixty-nine” 180 

“Wa'al, ye cursed critter, what dew ye want?” he 

said, glaring down at the prostrate figure . , 224 

“Wa'al, let me see,” said Uncle Eb, when he was 

seated with the four children around him . . 244 





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4 


THE BELL COW 


CHAPTER I. 

The Tinkle of the Bell. 

The bell cow came slowly down the road, 
followed by several other cows of as many 
different colors. Behind them came a little, 
scrubby, long-haired calf, trotting along in a 
cloud of dust. Two small, barefoot boys 
were driving the cows. One had a long 
stick with which he was beating the dust, 
and from time to time he shouted, ^^Whay! 
G^long there! Whay!^^ which, however, did 
not seem to make much impression on the 
cows, as they often stopped to nip the grass 
on either side of the road, regardless of the 
boys’ shouts, threats and flourishes of the 
crooked stick. 

As they came to a cottage by the roadside. 


2 


THE BELL COW 


one of the boys said to the other, ^^Now, 
Charlie, you wait while I run and give Miss 
Betsy her letter/’ So Charlie’s gad struck 
hard in the dust, and he stood watching the 
other lad running toward the house. 

The cottage stood among fine old trees. 
A gravel walk between two rows of old- 
fashioned flowers, led to the porch where 
Miss Betsy Hassway sat on the step looking 
over some dandelion greens. The boy came 
running up, dropped the letter into the pan 
of greens, and was starting down the path, 
when Miss Betsy called, ^^Be ye a forgettin’ 
this is yer pay night?” 

^^Why, that’s so, hain’t it!” he said, and, 
retracing his steps, received his money. This 
time he did not seem to be in such a hurry to 
get away, but stood watching Miss Betsy, 
who was opening her letter. 

Finally noticing him waiting, she asked, 
^^Wa’al, Henry?” and the child answered 
bashfully, ^^Last week when ye paid me ye 
gin me somethin’ else.” 

Miss Betsy’s pleasant face broadened into 
a smile as she said, ^^Wa’al, come here, 
dearie.” The boy put his little, dirty, tanned 


THE BELL COW 


3 


arms around her neck, and she gave him a 
kiss on each cheek. Then the child, happy 
at being caressed, as most children are, ran 
down the path, and soon there was heard 
again from the road the shout of ^^Whay! 
G^long there! Whay!^^ 

Miss Betsy’s hands with the letter dropped 
into her pan of greens, while she sat looking 
in the direction the child had gone, and 
musingly said, Bless the boy! How glad 
I am my livin’ alone hain’t made me so sour 
that no one can like me. How much good 
a kind word or a kiss does dew a body, and 
tew think Mis’ Smithers is a complainin’ 
’cause these tew leetle boys drive the bell 
cow by her house. Land sakes! I don’t 
want tew hear any better music than their 
happy voices a laughin’ an’ a yellin’ ^ Whay,’ 
with the tinkle of the bell makin’ music 
ever’ day as they go past. I wouldn’t hev 
her bell tuck off fer the world. Ever’ mornin’ 
fust thing I hear is th’ birds a singin’ an th’ 
roosters a crowin’, a eckerin’ crost th’ medder 
from th’ neighbors, an’ th’ leetle lambs a 
blattin’ tew their mothers, an’ all th’ time, 
th’ bell cow is a dewin’ her part tew make 


4 


THE BELL COW 


us hev a grand mornin^ chorus. When I 
wake up in th’ night an^ hear th’ faint tinkhn’ 
of her bell, I alus think what good company 
ye be, dear old bell cow; what good company 
ye be!’’ 

Betsy Hassway’s mother had died long 
years before, after which she had kept house 
for her father, who had worked their little 
farm until finally he, too, was carried down 
the gravel path, poor Miss Betsy following, 
now all alone. But her’s was not a nature 
to always look on the dark side, and, while she 
was very poor, she was also very contented. 
Tall and thin, her figure was youthful, and 
her face was pleasing, for she had fine gray 
eyes and her beautiful teeth often flashed 
behind the pleasantest of smiles. 

As the cloud of dust disappeared down the 
road, and the tinkle of the bell became faint, 
she picked up her letter and opened it. At 
first she smiled as she read, then she became 
grave; but at last she burst out laughing 
and said, ^^Wa’al, wa’al! I wrote for the 
Mission tew send me a leetle girl an’ I would 
keep her out here three months, but they 
aire sending me a boy. I hoped she would 


THE BELL COW 


5 


be a girl, but if she is goin’ tew be a boy, all 
right, let her be a boy.” 

The letter read: 

^*Dear Miss Hassway: 

We have a boy who has no parents, and 
is not well, and we think your home just the 
place for him. As you said you would send 
a man to the train Tuesday, there is no time 
to communicate with you, so we are sending 
the boy, hoping he will be satisfactory to 
you. His name is Willie Wooster. He is 
nine years old, and we think a very bright 

Yours truly, 

All Souls Mission.” 

A girl of about ten came from the cottage 
out on the porch. She stopped as she heard 
Miss Betsy reading, and as she realized the 
contents of the letter, covered her face with 
her hands. When Miss Betsy finished read- 
ing, the child burst into tears. 

^^So yer sendin^ for someun else to come 
here, and IVe got to go! Oh, Aunt Betsy, 
don't! Don't send me back to the city. I 
jest hate it! I hate it! I know I have been 


6 


THE BELL COW 


bad, but I have been sick ; now I am well, an’ 
I’m goin’ to work my nails off — that I am. 
Let me stay. Please — Please, Aunt Betsy!” 

Who’s sayin’ I’m a goin’ tew send ye 
away? Come and set down here. Ye startle 
a body, a bustin’ out so. I hain’t never goin’ 
tew send ye away. When ye go, ye go of 
yer own accord.” 

The girl threw her arms around Miss 
Betsy’s neck, sending the greens in all direc- 
tions and the empty pan rolling over the 
pebbles with a loud clatter. 

I’m gittin’ to love yer more an’ more ever’ 
day. That I am. Aunt Betsy; an’ ter have 
yer say I may stay — yer don’t know how I 
have worrited for fear yer’d send me back 
ter — ” and she paused. I kin stop worrytin’ 
now. Yer notice at times I aint hearty 
at meals? Wall, that’s when I got it inter 
my head yer goin’ ter send me back. But I 
aint goin’ ter worry no more.” 

Worry!” exclaimed Miss Betsy, ^^Wa’al, 
I’m mighty glad tew hear ye say that. Land 
sakes! I never worry ’bout nothin’. It 
don’t do no good; and they dew say it makes 
folks thin; and goodness knows if I should 


THE BELL COW 


7 


git any thinner I wouldnT make a shadder 
if I stood all day in one place. When ye 
come out here, I see ye wus all discouraged, 
an^ I donT want ye tew ever git discouraged 
agin. 

“Let me tell ye,^’ continued Miss Betsy, 
“how one of my best pullets that got dis- 
couraged turned out. She never ware a very 
pretty leetle chicken, an’ when she growed 
up she kinda went all tew laigs and neck. 
She hed a skinny body and not very nice 
feathers, an’ none of the roosters paid her 
any attention. So she went ’round th’ yard 
all alone, an’ a peckin’ at any of th’ chickens 
that come nigh her. One day she wus a 
droopin’ ’round, an’ not lookin’ where she 
ware a goin’, an’ she fell right in tew the soap 
grease, an’ then her troubles did begin. Her 
tail all fell out, an’ she wus a sight, an’ she 
hed tew keep under the elderberry bushes 
when th’ sun was out fer fear she would be a 
half-baked pullet. Her pride was orful’ hurt, 
an’ she drooped around all the more, an’ 
fin’ly got the pipp. 

“Now, I know lots o’ folks who go ’round 
discouraged an’ lookin’ down, when, if they’d 


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THE BELL COW 


only take the trouble tew look up, they^d 
see happiness an’ prosperity a standin’ right 
nigh a waitin’ fer them tew gin it a pleasant 
nod, an’ then they could go santerin’ along 
locked arms, happiness on one side, prosper’ ty 
on ’tother, an’ a nice smooth road ahead. 
Wa’al, come on now, an’ help me pick up 
them greens, or bimeby Tom will be a cornin’ 
an’ droppin’ a live mouse down amongst 
um, an’ you’ll be a climbin’ on th’ fence a 
yellin’ fer help, an’ I’ll hev tew pick um up 
all alone.” 


CHAPTER IL 


The Arrival of Willie Wooster. 

Ebenezer Cronk was a widower who 
owned the farm adjoining Betsy Hassway ^s 
place. He was a good-natured old soul, 
always telling stories that were retold around 
the neighborhood, affording much amuse- 
ment for the younger generation; and when 
called upon for a story, was sure to have one 
ready. 

Ebenezer was growing rather feeble, having 
been a hard worker since his four years of 
hardship in the war. He had but one eye, 
which often looked in the direction of Betsy 
Hassway^s cottage. In fact, he had hinted 
very plainly to her that he needed a wife, 
and that her cooking suited him fustrate ; 
but Betsy would not take the hint, or at least 
she did not lead him on. When he would 
become serious, and begin to tell her how 
lonely he was and how much he needed a 
companion, she was apt to interrupt him 


10 


THE BELL COW 


with, ^^Oh, goodness me! I b’lieve the water 
hes biled out of th’ beans Then she would 
fly to the kitchen. 

By the time she returned, he would say 
to himself, Wa’al, Ifll wait an’ ask her tew- 
morror.” 

It having been previously arranged that 
he should drive the mare Kate to the village 
to meet the boy who was coming, Ebenezer, 
on hand bright and early, was soon jogging 
down the road with old Kate and the plat- 
form wagon. By the clatter and dust, one 
might have thought of a runaway, but upon 
taking a second look, would have seen that 
old Kate was far from speeding. From the 
early start Ebenever took, it would seem 
that he was almost certain to get to the town 
by the time the train would arrive, but, in 
spite of all the encouragement he could give 
old Kate in the shape of pushing on the lines, 
flourishing the whip in a threatening manner 
and shouting, ^^G’lang! G’lang!” the train 
had come and gone before he arrived at the 
station. 

As he drove up to the platform, the mare 
caught sight of a switch engine. She pricked 



“ Got any trunk?” “ No, just this,” — the lad 
held up a small shoe-box 


12 


THE BELL COW 


more when they have tails? Most city horses 
donT have 

Ebenezer Cronk began a study of the lad 
who chatted on, asking many questions, and 
making himself at home in a way very dif- 
ferent from any of the country children. 

Willie Wooster had grown up at the Mis- 
sion, with about twenty other children, and 
had never had any especial attention. As he 
rode along through the country with Uncle 
Eb, gradually getting acquainted, he found 
him such a friendly old man that he soon 
hitched up a little nearer to him, and, putting 
his little arm around Uncle Eb^s, he hung 
on with a will. Perhaps he did this for fear 
he would fall from the high seat of the 
wagon, since old Kate had a habit of going 
on a lazy jog-trot a short distance, and then 
coming, suddenly, almost to a standstill in 
an unceremonious manner. Or it might have 
been that this little waif of the city found 
something in the old man^s kindly manner 
that his soul was hungering for; perhaps he 
knew intuitively, as children do, when he 
found a person who had a kind heart full of 
love. Finally, looking up into Uncle Eb^s 


THE BELL COW 


13 


face with his honest brown eyes, Willie said, 

If I was goin’ to pick out a father, I think 
I’d choose you. 

They let us go into the park on Saturdays,” 
he continued, ^^and sometimes we sit on the 
benches and watch little boys go drivin’ by 
with their nice fathers, an’ we each pick out 
one. One day two kids got into a fight 
’cause both picked out the same father, 
an’ I don’t know which ’twas that saw him 
first.” 

^^Wa’al! Wa’al!” said Ebenezer, “I jest 
need a boy like ye, but I don’t want tew git 
intew no fight with Betsy Hassway. Ye 
better call me Uncle Eb. I’m willin’ tew 
take ye that nigh relation jest from seein’ 
ye now, but ye better not adopt me fer a pa 
until we git better ’quainted. I’m old, an’ 
git mighty crusty by spells, an’ ye might 
wish I wa’n’t yer pa in a month or tew.” 

They came to a steep hill, and Willie said. 
Mister — er — I mean Uncle Eb, what if our 
wagon broke, an’ we went tearin’ down this 
hill?” 

Wa’al,” said Uncle Eb, ^^’twouldn’t be 
th’ fust time I ever went down this yer hill a 


14 


THE BELL COW 


kitin\ When I come tew this place, years 
ago, Twas all woods ’round here, an’ jest 
seven people lived in the hull county. I 
brought a good ax tew cut some logs tew 
start a house. My ax got dull, an’ I didn’t 
hev no grindstun tew grind it on; so I tuck 
a big round stun, as big as a buggy wheel, 
tew th’ top of this hill, an’ jumped on a 
straddle an’ held th’ ax tew the side of th’ 
stun. I gar! the fire flew like blixen, an’ 
we went down the hill tew beat all. I wus 
so busy holdin’ the ax on th’ stun that I 
forgot tew watch where we ware a goin’, an’ 
’bout half way down I struck a big maple 
tree. Quick es a wink, I riz my ax up an’ 
split th’ tree intew, right in th’ middle, an’ 
slipped right through, stun, ax an’ all. I 
was a goin’ like lightnin’, an’ when th’ tree 
snapped t’gether agin, it jest caught th’ end 
of my coat-tail an’ tore off a leetle piece. 
My coat-tail is still a hangin’ in that tree, 
but now it’s way up high ’cause th’ tree hes 
growed so much sence then. An’ dew ye 
know, the cotton from that piece of my 
coat-tail got intew th’ sap of that tree, 
now an’ when we hev a long, dry, hot 


THE BELL COW 


15 


summer, th’ tree hes cotton balls all over 
th^ top!” 

Gee ! You was goin^ some when you went 
down hill that time. Was it fun when you 
lived here in the country with only seven 
people?” 

^^Twa^nT alus fun. I hed lots tew worry 
me them days. One thing wus a onruly ox. 
He used tew git intew th’ bam an^ eat th^ 
grain. I put a hook on th^ barn door one 
night an’ th’ next mornin’ he wus in thar 
agin. So I put th’ hook ’way up high, out of 
his reach, an’ I’ll be blamed if he wan’t in 
agin jest th’ same. Wa’al, I wus stumped. 
Next night, I hooked th’ door with th’ high 
hook an’ went tew th’ house, but come right 
back agin tew ketch him, — knowin’ he’d 
think I hed gone tew bed, — an’ I gar if he 
hedn’t a yearlin’ calf boosted up on his horns, 
an’ th’ calf wus a onlockin’ th’ door!” 

^^My! My!” said the boy; ^^You do know 
th’ grandest stories. Tell another.” 

Wa’al,” said Uncle Eb, After I hed lived 
here a number of years, an’ we hed a leetle 
town started, a circus come ’long, an’ we all 
went tew see it. A performer come out with 


16 


THE BELL COW 


a ladder, an^ klum clean tew th^ top, an^ then 
balanced hisself on one ear right on th^ top 
round. Wa^al, th^ circus hed ben a dewin^ 
a lot of braggin’ ^bout what they ware a goin^ 
tew dew, an’ I knowed that he hedn’t done 
no trick at all tew what I could dew, so I got 
down from where I wus a settin’ an’ walked 
out in tew th’ ring jest tew show the circus 
what I could dew. I klum up th’ ladder, 
same as th’ circus man hed done, an I stood 
on my head an’ balanced myself on one ear, 
same as he hed done; an’ then I gin th’ ladder 
a jerk up, an’ brought th’ bottom round of 
it up where I wus, an’ klum on up. Every- 
body knowed then that th’ circus wus a 
seedlin’, an’ all went hum.” 

The noon whistle of the little old mill 
down the valley blew just as old Kate and 
the two occupants of the platform turned 
into the gate leading to Betsy Hassway’s 
cottage. 

swon!” said Uncle Eb — ^^’Tain’t noon, 
is it?” and he jerked out a watch which 
looked to the boy to be about the size of a 
pie plate. ^^Wa’al, I’ll be durned. ^Tis 
noon! Old Kate’s gittin’ tew be a pesky 


THE BELL COW 


17 


lazy old critter. She hain’t only thirty, an’ 
that hain’t half my age, an’ I kin go tew 
town an’ back, an’ walk all th’ way, an’ git 
hum in some kind o’ season tew.” 


t 


CHAPTER III. 


Getting Acquainted. 

Willie, dew ye want tew go with Salva- 
tion arter old Bess?^^ called Betsy Hassway, 
as Willie sat on the horseblock in front of 
the cottage on the evening of the day of his 
arrival. 

'^Yaup,^^ he answered, jumping to the 
ground and wondering who Bess could be; 
do want to go. Where is it?’^ 

Salvation will show ye.’^ 

A little girl came slowly down the path. 
The children looked hard at each other, then 
started down the road together. 

^^What makes her call you ^ Salvation 
asked the boy. 

^^She named me that after th^ Salvation 
Army brought me here.^^ 

^^Did you come from th^ Salvation Army?^’ 

^^Yes,^^ she replied. 

^^Did you have folks to live with, or did 
you jest stay somewhere? 


THE BELL COW 


19 


I ain^t fierce fer talkin’ ’bout it,” Salvation 
replied. 

^^Well, then I’ll tell you ’bout where I 
lived,” vouchsafed Willie. There was twenty 
boys an’ girls there, but I liked two better 
than th’ rest. One was my chum, — I called 
him ^Th’ Kid.’ Th’ day before I left, he 
went away with a nice man to another city, 
an’ him an’ me are goin’ to cor’spond. I’m 
goin’ to write him a letter ever’ week, an’ he is 
goin’ to write back to me. Then there was 
a little baby there an’ I hated to leave him 
awful bad. We both cried when I came 
away. Do you ever cry?” 

^^Uster. Don’t now,” answered Salvation. 

There ain’t much reason ter cry out here.” 

Who’s old Bess we’re goin’ to git?” 

“Why, her’s a old cow, of course; we go 
down th’ path here. 

“D’yer see that white house over there 
with th’ wide porch?” she continued; “That’s 
th’ Starkweather house. Mis’ McGinn lives 
there, — her has folks here from the city ’most 
of the time for their health; but I can’t see 
as any are much unhealthy. She had a 
husband, but he has went. Last week when 


20 


THE BELL COW 


I was here a settin^ on th^ fence a watchin’ 
th^ men play tennis, one said — ^Do yer see 
how Mis^ McGinn takes a fancy ter my doig? 
You know he is a English bull doig, and his 
face is a perfect picter of her husband that 
left; he had ter slap his face ter make it go 
ter sleep o^ nights^ — Do yer bdieve any one 
has ter do th^ like of that on ’count of bein’ 
homely?” 

I dunno ; may be so.” Willie was thought- 
ful as he glanced at her plain little freckled 
face and two pigtails of hair. You ought to 
know better than me.” But he hurriedly 
added, You’re older and know more is why.” 

have heard,” continued his companion 
eager to show her knowledge, ^Hhat a grass 
widow alus wears weeds. Did yer ever 
hear that? But Mis’ McGinn don’t wear 
no weeds. One thing she does that th’ folks 
talk about is she ties her goat in her lot in 
the cem’try to eat the weeds and grass. She 
said down ter our house the other night that 
she bought ther lot and paid for it with her 
own money, and if her husband had died in- 
stead of leavin’ her, she’d be a gittin’ some- 
thin’ out of her investment, ’cause he had a 


THE BELL COW 


21 


insurance; but as Twas now, she only got 
weeds for her goat, and she was a goin^ ter 
leave it there so as ter realize somethin’ on 
her money. 

Mis’ McGinn comes down ter our house 
’most ever’ day. She’s a awful big woman, 
and talks accordin’ ter her size. She says 
once she was rich and lived in a big hotel on 
Fifth Avenue, and says it was a big, tall, red 
brick hotel, and that it was called the Cascara- 
Sagrada, I think. It was so tall it reached 
’most up to th’ sky, and didn’t have no stairs 
in it, but she said th’ folks went from where 
they et up to their rooms and back in a refrig- 
erator that went by pressed wind. 

^^She said her husband was a graduate of 
Vassar College — but he didn’t look or ack so — 
and that when she lived at this big hotel, one 
night they had a unusual big supper of baked 
beans and shad, and pickles and raisins and 
candy, and when she went ter bed, she blew 
out the gas. She said she was so full of 
happiness and supper that she forgot how it 
turned out with a crank, and her husband 
and her was ’most confiscated with ther gas 
afore mornin’. She says she was awful sick 


22 


THE BELL COW 


and threw up jest lots things all that day 
and th’ next. And now, if she sees baked 
beans or shad unexpectedly, she feels just 
es if she was goin’ ter nau’sate any minit’, — 
and sometimes she says she almost nau^sates 
jest thinkin^ ’bout beans an’ shad. 

There’s old Bess now, a standin’ in th’ 
creek. Whay, there!” she shouted, her mind 
suddenly diverted from Mrs. McGinn. Old 
Bess, who was standing in the little brook, 
lazily flapping her tail from side to side, 
keeping a swarm of flies busy trying to bite 
and still keep out of whacking distance, 
commenced to climb the opposite bank to- 
ward the barn. 

^^Oh, there’s Uncle Eb a cornin’ through 
th’ bars from his pasture-field!” exclaimed 
Salvation in a second breath. 

“I wus jest a cornin’ over tew Betsy Hass- 
way’s with some ’spar’grass,” he called; 
‘^an’ now I’ll hev fust-class comp’ny. She’s 
a breakin’ ye intew farmin’, is she, Willie?” 
said Uncle Eb, as he met them, and stopped 
to shift his basket from one arm to the other. 

^^Yes,” said the boy, ‘^1 know how to feed 
the chickens an’ git old Bess. That aint 


THE BELL COW 


23 


doin^ bad fer the first day, is it, Uncle Eb?^^ 

^^YeTe a dewin per ty well, complimented 
Ebenezer, as they started across the pasture 
with old Bess wandering along^ ahead ; but 
I^m a hopin^ we wonT hev no drouth tew 
dry up that crick, or ye may hev tew drive yer 
cow quite a ways fer water. 

^^When I fust come here, I hed about 
twenty head of cattle, an’ we hed a orful 
drouth, an’ th’ springs all dried up, an’ I 
hed tew drive my cattle eighteen mile ever’ 
night an’ mornin’ tew git a drink; an’ the 
wust on it wus I hed tew ford tew rivers 
goin’ an’ cornin’ from the crick. After it 
hed ben dry a long time, it come a orful rain, 
an’ we hed a turble flood. We hed built a 
mill on th’ bank of th’ river, an’ hed a hun- 
dred million logs hauled tew it. 

“ One day while we ware a workin’ a sawin’ 
the logs, it commenced tew rain harder an’ 
harder, ’till we fin’ly hed a cloud-bust, an’ 
it washed th’ logs, mill an’ all down th’ river. 
All th’ men but me wus orful scart, fer they 
ware jest bom cowards, ever’ one, ’ceptin’ 
me. But I jest hollered, ^Ye keep right on 
sawin’, ever’ one on ye!’ We did keep right 


24 


THE BELL COW 


on workin^, an’ in tew weeks we bed all the 
logs sawed intew boards while we ware a 
floatin’ down th’ river, an’ jest as we got the 
last board sawed, we got tew th’ city where 
we alus hed sold our lumber, so we sold it an’ 
come hum. I would a ben rich tewday with 
th’ money we got, if I hedn’t gin so much 
away.” 

^^Aint Uncle Eb a wonderful man?” said 
Willie Wooster to Salvation, as they drove 
old Bess into the barn yard. ^^How I do 
wish I was him.” 

Then he settled himself comfortably in one 
corner of the haymow, produced several 
partly chewed pencils, and wrote his first 
letter to the ^^Kid.” 

deer Kid 

i got here alrite an aint et any mush 
sence. Ever’ mornin’ we have aigs the hens 
^ lay over night an cackel to let us no jest as 
soon as they have one ready aint that thotful 
an kind of them? 

You no the spitful ol woman at the mission 
who usto tell us if we didn’t gita jersy on she 
wood spank us? ive found out that a jersey 


THE BELL COW 


25 


is a cow so that ol woman must a ben nuts — 
ant Betsy where i live has a cow an^ she lays 
to pails full of milk ever’ day. ime makin’ 
money at Mrs McGins hear — she has a lot 
of swell guys there from the city all the time 
an i caddy for them wen they play gof. 

Salvation is a girl an she lives hear an she 
told me that Mrs McGin an her husband had 
parted — but Ant Betsy says taint so — she 
staid rite hear together, i dont no how tis 
anyhow. A bunch is there now bordin 
they are like the folks we see in the park 
ledin dogs 

i am goin to write ever week hopin you 
are the same. 

Willie Wooster 

P. S. ive found out what skandle is that 
the old woman ust to cry bout at the mission 
— cause Misis McGins borders said twas 
skandle cans our old setten hen kum off with 
ducks — an they laffed ! i wish the old woman 
new how folks laf out here bout skandle cans 
they now its only ducks! 


CHAPTER IV. 


The Starkweather House. 

The Starkweather house, in which Mrs. 
McGinn lived, was owned by the widow of a 
country judge, he having died some years 
before leaving little except the fine old house 
and grounds. Sarah Ann Starkweather was 
a woman of refinement, a thorough student, 
and was much liked by the judge^s friends, 
who were always glad to spend a fortnight at 
the old country place, play golf and tennis 
with the judge, and, incidentally, enjoy the 
fine cooking of Mrs. McGinn. 

Mrs. McGinn had come to Judge Stark- 
weather’s years before, and as time passed 
by, grew very valuable to them as a trust- 
worthy servant and faithful friend, each year 
adding to her avoirdupois as well as to her 
virtues. Her husband, Patrick, had acted 
as barn man several years for the judge, but 
he and Mrs. McGinn failed to agree on the 
subject of temperance, as Pat could not go 


THE BELL COW 


27 


to the village without returning with sea 
legs and a firm belief that he was proprietor 
of a brewery. Finally, these disputes became 
so frequent, and Mrs. McGinnis methods of 
reproof so severe, that one day Patrick 
McGinn left for parts unknown. 

After the judge^s death, Mrs. Starkweather, 
feeling that she could not part with the home 
where the judge had brought her a bride, 
and where they had lived happily for many 
years, decided to try keeping boarders, so 
Mrs. McGinn was promoted to the office of 
housekeeper, with a maid or two to assist 
her. The comfortable old place and Mrs. 
McGinnis cooking proved to be very popular, 
and Sarah Ann Starkweather, knowing that 
Mrs. McGinn could safely be left in charge, 
accepted an invitation to go abroad with an 
attorney and his wife, old friends of the 
judge, who gladly paid her expenses in order 
to have the benefit of her knowledge of the 
countries they were to visit. 

Mrs. McGinn, very proud of being pro- 
prietress of the place and anxious to please 
her boarders, was crude and over-talkative 
at times, and often nearly lost a boarder; but, 


28 


THE BELL COW 


after thinking it over, he would decide that 
her cleanliness, fine cooking and wit over- 
balanced her other failings; and then the 
thought of the gentle woman across the sea 
who would be pained by any trouble occurring 
at her home, would cause him to laugh at 
Mrs. McGinnis railings and begin anew. 

Mrs. McGinn fully realized the importance 
of her new position in the neighborhood, and 
immediately after Mrs. Starkweather's de- 
parture, it was ^^Me house,’^ ^^Me boarthers,’’ 
^^Me farrum,^^ etc., on all occasions. 

Betsy Hassway cautioned her: ^^Don^t 
be a gittin^ tew upstrepulos or yer boarders 
will be a leavin’ ye.” 

Mrs. McGinn replied, ^^Oi alwus spake me 
moind, but at all toimes Oi hev me dignity 
in me bosom; an’ sure, whin Oi spake me 
moind th’ most to me boarthers, Oi fade thim 
th’ bist. Its rason Oi’m a usin’ fer sure.” 

Salvation was surely right when she told 
Wilhe Wooster that Mrs. McGinn was a 
mammoth, and talked according to her 
size”; but Mrs. McGinn had a heart in keep- 
ing with the size of her body. At times she 
railed at the boarders, and made regular 


THE BELL COW 


29 


visits to Betsy Hassway^s to tell of their im- 
perfections; yet she was full of good nature, 
untiring in her efforts to make them com- 
fortable, and her good sense usually kept her in 
good spirits. Each morning, they moved 
chairs, tables, pillows, etc., to the grove for the 
day, unmindful that if a shower should come 
up, there was no one near to carry the things 
back. Then would Mrs. McGinn rail again, 
declaring she would kape sorry a boarther 
no longer. But the next morning, it was 
the same old story again, — everything mov- 
able went to the grove, and Mrs. McGinn 
would stand on the porch watching the 
moving with a broad smile, remarking to 
them, ^^Take um ^long an^ be as happy as 
ye can, ye spalpeens; tomorra ye may hev 
monny a trouble.’^ 

A very good idea of this worthy lady^s 
personal appearance, Willie Wooster gave 
in a portion of one of his letters to ^^The 
Kid.’’ Willie was seated by Betsy Hassway 
a long time one morning, when she remarked. 

Seems tew me, Willie, ye air a writin’ a 
longer letter ’n usual this mornin’.” 

^^Oh! it’s all ’bout Mrs. McGinn. Read 


30 


THE BELL COW 


it, Aunt Betsy, while I go an’ feed the little 
chickens.” 

Aunt Betsy read as follows : 

‘Meer Kid 

^Ther is the bigist fatist woman out hear i 
ever see she is so fat that when she woks on 
the level she looks zif she was kliming up hil 
And she pufs and whezes lik a enjun. She 
alwus sits on the lounj an wen she sets down 
she jest sort of flatens out wide. One day 
i was settin on the lounj on the end in the 
korner an wen she got set i was tallern her! 
Ant betsy alwus makes skuses for Missis 
McGin an she sed Missis McGin setled the 
lounj down in the midel an roz it at the ends 
is why i was taler than her 1 1 ! 

^The other day Misis McGin come over 
kliming harder and makin more whezes than 
usual she was red in the fase an oful warm 
Twas a oful hot day an she was prosperin 
somethin ferce. Swet was jest droppin of 
the end of her noz an dripin down onto wher 
most wimen hev laps. I whisperd to ant 
betsy i thot Missis McGin lookt big an warm 
jest like a mary-go-round boiler. Ant betsy 


THE BELL COW 


31 


laft an en pertended she had a cof and sed 
Willie deer you better go and git the aigs. 
But she didnt get rid of me that way as I 
lik to heer Misis McGin blow wen she gets 
her wind and so i jest sed Anty deer i hev got 
the aigs/^ 

The child returned, bringing in a little wet 
chicken, just as Miss Betsy stopped reading 
his unfinished letter. 

^^Aunt Betsy he exclaimed, found this 
little chicken in the wet grass on his back 
kickin^ up his laigs an^ openin’ his mouth, an’ 
I think he’s plastered for fair.” 

^^Gin ’im tew me, Willie — it’s chilled. I’ll 
wrap ’im up in my apern, an’ en he won’t hev 
the gaps. What on airth dew ye mean by 
plastered? I nary hearn of that complaint.” 

'^One day,” answered Willie, found a 
man in the alley by the Mission; he was kickin’ 
up his laigs an openin’ his mouth jest zactly 
like this chicken, an’ I went en got ’nother man 
to come an’ he said the man was plastered 
for fair. Hear him chirp. Aunt Betsy. He’s 
gettin’ warm already.” 

^^Yis,’^ she said. “Ye see he knows we 


32 


THE BELL COW 


aire a bein’ good tew ’im, an’ he hes that 
feelin’ that comes tew us all when folks is 
kind. Ye notice, Willie, they hain’t any of 
my chickens ’fraid, an’ they don’t worry 
themselves skinny ’bout hawks nuther. They 
mind their own business, eat their buckwheat 
an’ corn, an’ lay often as is necessary, an’ 
keep their minds busy ’bout decent things, 
an’ hain’t expectin’ orful things tew happen; 
so hawks an’ weasels don’t come nigh. Ye 
jist remember one thing, Willie, keep yer 
mind clean an’ think good things, an’ good 
things will come. Folks who dew wicked 
things fust hev hed wicked thoughts quite a 
spell.” 

Is school teachers ’spectin’ bad things t’ 
happen. Aunt Betsy?” 

hain’t a knowin’ it if they be, Willie.” 

^^Well,” the child continued. boy told 
me if you watch you can always tell a school 
teacher when they set down, ’cause they al- 
ways shove into a chair sideways instead of 
settin’ down like other folks, ’cause they’re 
’spectin’ to set on bent pins.” 

^^Land sakes, Willie!” Betsy exclaimed, 
with a hearty laugh, “ I guess school teachers 


THE BELL COW 


33 


hain’t ’spectin^ any such thing, — but if they 
be, most likely they will git um, so it^s better 
tew be ’spectin^ good things tew come tew ye. 

Ye remember yistdy that aire leetle peep- 
toad in the pond behind the hen house was a 
singin’ wuss than ever? Wa^al, some toads 
would a ben discouraged. He^s ben a singin^ 
his song ever^ night fer a month, an^ ye know 
it ware a gittin^ drier an’ drier, an’ if it hedn’t 
rained jest as it did, his pond would hev ben 
dry. Wa’al, instid of gittin’ blue an’ sulkin’ 
’cause rain didn’t come, he jest kept right on 
singin’, an’ jest as the water ware a’ most 
gone, he tuck tew singin’ all day tew, an’ last 
night the rain come, an’ now his pond is full 
an’ runnin’ over. 

^^An’ that’s what I b’lieve in, Willie; jest 
bein’ cheerful as ye can when things look 
discouragin’. The Lord gin folks lots better 
voices than He gin peeptoads, yet some on 
’em go growlin’ ’round, a soundin’ lots wuss. 

I see by yer letter that yer very observin’, 
Willie. Mis’ McGinn is orful portly, but that’s 
lots better’n bein’ skinny an’ hevin’ the 
rickets. She’s a good womern, tew. We 
hev so many different fractions in th’ neigh- 


34 


THE BELL COW 


borhood, an’ she’s good tew um all, an’ they 
all like her fust-rate.” 

The little chicken hopped out from the 
folds of Miss Betsy’s apron, perched himself 
upon her knee, and commenced to peck at the 
white dots on the calico dress. 

Oh, Aunt Betsy ! ” exclaimed Willie. ^'He’s 
got over bein’ plastered, hain’t he?” and the 
child, getting on his knees, put his face close 
to the little yellow bill of the chicken. 

^^Yis,” she replied, ^^he’s all right now. 
We’ll gin em a leetle wet-up meal, an’ then 
put ’em under the kitchen stove in the basket 
a spell. Anybody can git over ’most any- 
thin’ if they only try hard enough an’ long 
enough; but it’s alus best if ye see folks a 
tryin’ tew gin ’em some help, same es we 
gin this leetle chicken.” 


CHAPTER V. 


The Passing of Hiram Skinner. 

^^Wa^al, Betsy, another one o’ th’ old 
settlers hes gone,” said Ebenezer Cronk, 
seating himself on Betsy Hassway’s porch 
early one evening. 

Dew ye mean, Ebenezer, that Hiram 
Skinner hes passed away?” 

That’s what I’ve jest hearn, Betsy.” 

Wa’al, I hate tew hev ’em go one 
by one, but dew ye know, Ebenezer, I 
hain’t s’prised tew hear Hiram’s gone fer 
he wan’t one bit well long time before he tuck 
to his bed.” 

^^Yis, I know, Betsy; he hain’t ben hisself 
sence more than a year ago when he was a 
buildin’ that pigpen, an’ hit agin his old boss 
an’ got kicked in an ornery way a couple o’ 
times. Ye know he hain’t walked a step 
sence. But I wan’t lookin’ fer him tew go 
so soon. The doctors all seemed tew think 
it ware paralyses, but at the last they decided 


36 


THE BELL COW 


it ware peneetis. IVe ben a goin^ over tew 
see him nigh onto ever’ day fer the last three 
months, an’ hev ben watchin’ him pritty 
dost. He went orful suddent.” 

Wa’al,” said Miss Betsy, ^^I’ll be a makin’ 
a piller of flowers fer ye tew take over. I 
sent him a goose feather piller a spell ago, 
an’ now a piller of flowers will be about the 
best I kin dew fer him hopin’ his poor tired 
head is at rest. Ye know them leetle white 
daisies an’ them yeller roses air in blow, an’ 
I kin git skunk’s cabbage in the poster-field 
fer the green around the aidge; an’ en I shall 
put some nice motter in the middle. Lemme 
see, what shall I put on it? Wa’al, I think 
I shall put feel His well,^ ’cause ye know 
some of th’ neighbors will be a tryin’ tew 
send him tew t’other place.” 

Wa’al, Betsy,” remarked Ebenezer gently, 

wus a thinkin’ how time is a fleetin’, an’ 
how lonesome Hiram Skinner must a ben 
sence his wife died, an’ as ye seem so sorry 
fer him, mebby ye aire a gittin’ a leetle sorry 
fer me. Betsy,” — and his kind old voice 
trembled with emotion as he spoke — “hain’t 
ye made up yer mind yit tew be Mrs. Cronk? 


THE BELL COW 


37 


I^m a waitin’ so long, I’m a gittin’ orful dis- 
couraged. I hain’t young any more, but my 
heart is, an’ I’m a longin’ tew hev ye say yis 
one of these days. Can’t ye say yis tew- 
night, Betsy? Ye kin come up tew my 
house with the childern tew live, or we’ll rent 
it an’ I’ll come down here. Can’t ye make 
up yer mind tew-night, Betsy? I’ve ben a 
waitin’ so long fer yer answer, ye hain’t a 
goin’ tew keep me a waitin’ any longer, be ye, 
Betsy?” 

^^Wa’al, Ebenezer, ye kinda talk sense 
tew-night. When ye hev asked me afore, ye 
hain’t said nothin’ ’bout the childern; an’ 
Ebenezer, I hain’t caltalatin’ on partin’ with 
them childern unless I hev tew. Then, be- 
sides, you’ve ben married, an’ I hed made up 
my mind some time ago that I warn’t goin’ 
tew marry warmed over affections or a ready 
made fambly. Course I know yer tew chil- 
dern aire good folks, an’ bein’ married them- 
selves, ’most likely wouldn’t object tew me. 
But ye know warmed over affections is some 
like warmed over taters, — they may be a wee 
bit sour when they aire dished up tew ye in 
the mornin’, an’ then, a ready made fambly 


38 


THE BELL COW 


ack tew a widow man sometimes like em- 
balming fluid does tew meat. They keep 
his affections a lookin’ fresh an’ sweet, an’ 
yet might pizen a second wife in case they 
tuck a dislike tew her. But, I’m about 
makin’ up my mind tew take ye, Ebenezer. 
I’ve hed a option on ye so long, seems s’if I 
orter close the deal, ’cause ye sartainly dew 
need a wife orful bad, an’ I dunno where on 
airth ye can git anybody else if I don’t take 
ye. I like ye all right, but I hain’t a gunto 
say yis tew-night, ’cause it’s a cornin’ on 
berry-pickin’ time, an’ I can’t be bothered 
with ye jest now; but I’ll be a lettin’ ye 
know in a few weeks.” 

Betsy,” he said, as he arose to go, ^^My 
old heart is jest a beatin’ tew-night. I 
know ye aire a goin’ tew hev me in the fall, 
but I won’t be a askin’ ye agin till arter 
berry-pickin’ time is past; but, remember, 
Betsy, ye hev the refusal of me until arter 
berry pickin’.” 

^^Yis, Ebenezer,” she answered. Arter 
berry pickin’.” 

* * * H: * * * 

Two days after this conversation. Aunt 


THE BELL COW 


39 


Betsy took Willie and the pillow which she 
had fashioned with loving hands to Hiram 
Skinner^s funeral. It was a great event to 
Willie, and he felt the need of more conver- 
sation than Aunt Betsy would vouchsafe; 
accordingly, he wrote to his ^^corspondent.’^ 

deer Kid : 

ive ben to a Frunel. They are sorry ^bout 
Frunels hear, you no how they go trottin 
long in the sity vistin an havin a good Time 
i told Ant betsy when we were startin that 
i hopt they wood not make us ride behind a 
swil wagon and she asked me what I ment 
makin such remarks about a frunel, and I 
told her how we hed seen all kinds of wagons 
goin along with Frunels in the sity. you 
member the time we see the advertisin wagon 
goin rite long with the Frunel rite behind the 
herse an just in front of the cryers carrige 
with big red leters sayin Fire Sale Now Goin 
On. Ant betsy sed such wagons never went 
to Frunels and wood not lisen wen I trid 
to tel her i was shuer and that youn me had 
see them lots of times crowded rite in!! 

A oful thing hapened. Ant betsy made 


40 


THE BELL COW 


a grate big pillo of flowers — She waz haf a 
day fixin it up It waz all wite in the middle 
an with yellow flowers that red / Feel Tis 
Well Ant betsy sed she had it reed like that 
cause Mister Skinner had lots of trubble and 
now she ses he has gone to a place where 
he will be hapy Well Uncle Eb took the 
pillo over when he went to the Frunel and 
put it down on the sofa which was a mis- 
take. 

Missis McGin came in and sat rite on it! 
When Uncle Eb saw what she had done he 
had her git rite up and then he put the pillo 
on the table where everbody could see it It 
was oful disrangd and when the Frunel be- 
gun an they were singin i looked at the pillo 
and saw the leters red I Feel Tis Hell, i saw 
lots of foks a smilin bout it then the man 
that undertook the Frunel saw it flndly and 
went and fixed the leters so they red rite agin 
Ant betsy ses she was morterfid most to deth 
— i was shamed some bu^ i was more mad at 
Missis McGin. 

Uncle Eb ses Missis McGin wood do wel if 
she wood folio the old sayn look before you 
set and i think so to for wherever she sets 


THE BELL COW 


41 


she makes a impreshun hoping you are the 
same. 

Willie Wooster. 

P. S. I haint et mush yet. 

P. S. The bell cow has a caf its a girl. 

W. W. 


CHAPTER VL 


The Forest Fire. 

Betsy Hassway was seated in the cool 
shade beneath the wide-spreading branches of 
an old apple tree at the side of her little 
garden. On the bench beside her was her 
work basket filled with yarn and thread of 
many colors; on her lap and at her feet were 
childrens^ stockings of various sizes. As she 
worked away at her darning, no mother could 
have looked happier. 

She took a sock from the basket, examined 
it closely, then laid it across her knee and 
slowly shook her head. 

Guess that aire one is past darninV^ she 
said, patting it caressingly, ^^but the socks 
with the biggest holes be jest a reminder of 
the dear leetle feet that run about so willingly 
dewin’ chores.” 

Tom, the old spotted cat, was creeping 
among the bean vines, occasionally rolling 
over in the dry dirt in an effort to attract 


THE BELL COW 


43 


Miss Hassway^s attention. Soon a robin 
came and alighted upon the garden gate, 
with an excited flutter and loud chirps, 
making a great ado, all on account of three 
blue eggs that had been left a moment un- 
guarded ; now, on his return, he found a very 
alarming state of affairs. 

He bobbed his little head and tail anxiously, 
accompanied with many loud chirps, as 
much as to say, ^^What do you mean by 
coming under my tree! You go right away! 
My wife and I picked out this tree to avoid 
being bothered by giant folks and ugly cats. 
Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! And, besides, I canT 
have her worried about anything at a time 
like this; so you go right away.^^ 

Chirp! Chirp !^’ A higher key, another 
flutter, and Mrs. Robin arrives, angry and 
scolding at Mr. Robin. 

^^Now, what did I tell you!^’ she seems 
to cry; ^^This is no safe place for a nest, and 
I knew it all the time, but you had to have 
your way, man-like. Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! 
Goodness sakes! How do you expect me to 
sit and bring up a family, and have to live 
in a place like this. Merciful Angleworms! 


44 


THE BELL COW 


See that cat in the bean vines ! If I had only- 
known last Valentine day what a poor man- 
ager you would be, I never would have mated 
with you. No, never. There 

^^Thomas,^^ said Aunt Betsy, ^^ye come 
here and stop watchin^ the robins. Ye aire 
a scarin^ them nigh tew death.^^ 

^^Aunt Betsy! Aunt Betsy came an 
excited call from the road, Hutton’s sugar 
bush is all on fire, and they say Bert Hover 
set it, and they aire havin’ a awful time! 
Ever’body is goin’ tew fight fire!” 

^^My sakes! My sakes!” exclaimed Aunt 
Betsy, as she came around in front of the 
cottage where she could see great clouds of 
smoke rolling skyward. 

^^Bert Hover set it,” repeated the boy. 

Herbert Hover nary set that fire; never!” 
exclaimed Betsy earnestly, ^^They hain’t a 
more likely young feller in the neighbor- 
hood. The idear! What ary started that 
report? ” 

^^Him and Pauline Hutton was saw goin’ 
in tew the sugar bush just afore it started, and 
they hain’t ben seen sence. If he didn’t set 
the fire, why hain’t he helpin’ put it out, I’d 


THE BELL COW 


45 


like tew know/^ said George Scoville, as he 
hurried along. 

The heavens seemed to be darkening every 
moment. Great clouds of smoke rolled higher 
and higher; burnt leaves were falling every- 
where. 

A sudden terror seemed to come over the 
pleasant valley. Birds flew away with mourn- 
ful little screams, their delicate wings singed 
before they could part from their nest homes. 
Little deer-mice came hurrying out of the 
woods, trying to carry their young, but drop- 
ping them now and again as they turned to 
sniff the awful smoke that followed them; 
then on they would run, their gray sides 
throbbing and little black beady eyes bulging 
from the sockets with fright. Squirrels ran 
chattering along on the fences. The fire 
increased • rapidly, and raged and roared in 
its fury. 

Across the meadow stumbled a woman, 
calling and waving her sunbonnet in great 
excitement. 

“ My God ! My God ! Somebody go intew 
the woods and save my girl. She is in there! 
Oh, somebody go and git my Pauline!'' The 


46 


THE BELL COW 


poor thing fell fainting, as she reached the 
road. 

^‘Why, it’s Mis’ Hutton! What wus she 
sayin’? Pauline in the burnin’ woods? Oh! 
it can’t be.” 

^^Oh, God! She is! She is!” moaned the 
mother, regaining consciousness. ^^Her and 
Herbert went across the medder intew the 
sugar bush. I see um with my own eyes. 
Abel told Bert he needn’t come tew our house 
no more, and he went away and Pauline with 
him.” 

The wind shifted, the black smoke came 
rolling across the dusty road, and the people 
went running into the meadow. A little red 
fox came loping madly after them, froth 
dropping from its tongue as it lolled and 
gasped for breath; on seeing the people and 
dogs, the poor thing gave a plaintive little 
bark and turned back into the burning woods. 

The men secured hoes and dug a path 
through the leaves. Uncle Eb arrived with 
a fire brand and set back-fires as fast as the 
path was dug. 

^^AU the timber on the hills will bum if we 
don’t git it headed off!” he called. 


THE BELL COW 


47 


Uncle Eb/’ loudly called some one from 
the road; ^^Dew ye know Pauline and Herbert 
aire in the woods, like enough burnin^?^^ 

Frantically, the men ran calling through 
the woods ahead of the fire; but no answer 
came. Old Abel Hutton stumbled along 
through the thicket, cursing and raving, 
followed by the constable. 

Curse him! Curse him! I told Bert 
Hover tevr git off of my premises! He a 
darin^ tew come ^round wantin^ tew marry my 
Pauline! Damn him! When he left this 
arternoon, she follered him, and when he see 
me cornin’ he sot my woods on fire tew hinder 
me findin’ him, or tew burn my child. The 
penitentiary is tew good for him, and Pll see 
tew it that he gits there!” 

The old man stumbled on until the heat 
and smoke became unbearable and drove 
him out into the meadow land. Some of the 
neighbors came to him in sympathy, but 
when they saw his red face and eyes bleared 
with rage, they fell back, for they all knew 
Abel Hutton. 

^^Go home all on ye!” he stormed. ^'Let 
nm bum, damn um! Git out of my woods 


48 


THE BELL COW 


and git out of my medder!^’ and he shook a 
trembling fist at the men who were so anxious 
to help him and the unfortunates in the woods. 

The horror of the situation seemed to 
strike the little community speechless. It 
had been known for a long time that Herbert 
Hover and Pauline Hutton were lovers, but 
old Abel Hutton, selfish in everything, was 
even more selfish of his only child than any- 
thing else in the world. 

Herbert Hover was a manly young fellow 
of the neighborhood who had a liking for 
books and a still greater liking for Pauline 
Hutton. Old man Hutton did not wait for 
matters to come to a crisis, but at the outset 
ordered the young man away with harsh 
words, calling him a lazy fortune hunter, for 
old man Hutton was well to do, while Herbert 
possessed only a little farm with a rose-covered 
cottage where his father and mother had 
lived until his mother was taken away; and 
now the old father and Herbert lived alone, 
tending their little place, while Herbert busied 
himself with books. Every one but Abel 
thought well of him. He was large and 
handsome, and always made friends. 


THE BELL COW 


49 


That day when the shadow came over the 
little valley, a greater shadow came upon the 
name of Herbert Hover. The country folk 
looked aghast at each other in silence, for 
was not the old man saying that Herbert had 
taken his daughter away and set fire to the 
woods? Every one knew that the young 
couple had reason to feel that they had been 
wronged, but they were slow to believe that 
Herbert had so far forgotten himself as to 
become a criminal. 

Old Abel Hutton trudged back across the 
meadow, storming and cursing. At his heels 
followed his meek little wife crying silently. 

The neighbors wandered aimlessly through 
the fields, watching the smoldering timber 
where the fire had spread. Finally darkness 
came on and the great trunks of the burning 
trees stood out like awful living creatures; 
scrawny arms with red hot fingers seemed to 
writhe and coil, and grotesque faces with eyes 
of living coals looked down the slope into the 
valley. The saddened neighbors still waited 
near the blackened timber where the fire had 
first swept through, knowing well that it was 
useless; but the awful calamity seemed to 


50 


THE BELL COW 


hold them to the spot. Betsy Hassway was 
the only one who kept up courage. 

know Herbert Hover nary sot this fire; 
never — and burn hisself and Pauline! Why, 
land sakes! Hain’t I known him from a 
leetle creepin’ baby? I guess I hev, and he 
alus takin’ care of his old father, keepin^ him 
out of the poor house, and all sich. Ye jest 
better not come tew any conclusions until ye 
find out the facts; thaPs soon enough for 
anybody.” 

Finally the valley was shrouded in dark- 
ness, and Aunt Betsy slowly made her way 
homeward. As she walked along, she could 
hear the awful crash of falling trees; and as 
she turned to look, great clouds of sparks 
ascended skyward. From across the valley 
came the solemn ^^Whoo! Wh-oo!” of a 
hoot owl, mingling with the plaintive notes of 
a whip-poor-will. 

^^Yis, Yis,” she mused, am a sayin^ who 
could have done this awful thing. I know it 
wan^t Herbert Hover. I know it wan^t.” 

^^Aunt Betsy!” came a low call through 
the darkness. 

Betsy stopped to listen. The voice was 



“Aunt Betsy!” came a low call through the darkness 



THE BELL COW 


51 


so faint that she thought she must have been 
mistaken, when again the call was faintly 
repeated. She hurried to the old stump fence 
from whence the sound seemed to come, and 
found poor Pauline clinging to the twisted 
roots to keep from falling. The girPs clothes 
were torn in strings, and she was shivering 
from the cold, for the night was growing 
chilly. 

Where is Herbert? Tell me he is not in 
the woods pleaded Betsy, trembling in 
spite of her usual optimism. 

^^Oh, I donT know where he is! We ran 
ahead of the fire, it seemed as if it was miles. 
I got tired out, then he carried me clear over 
the hill to the meadow; but I dare not 
talk here; take me home with you and I will 
tell you all.^’ 

Betsy Hassway wrapped her shawl around 
the tired girl, and helped her along the grassy 
pathway; soon they were seated in Betsy^s 
snug little kitchen. 

Drink some milk, and then you must tell 
me all about this fire. I must know it all 
tew-night, for they be sayin^ bad things about 
Herbert.’’ 


52 


THE BELL COW 


“Yes, I know, Aunt Betsy. We heard 
what they said. When we got all tired out, 
we rested in a thicket and the men came 
near us and stopped — and we heard father 
say that Herbert set the fire.^’ 

“Herbert nary set that fire. Pauline, tell 
me the truth. Herbert nary set that fire.^^ 
There was a dead silence. The little old 
clock on the shelf ticked loudly, seeming to 
want to make reply for the girl. 

“Herbert left me sitting on a log and went 
back to see if father was following; then first 
I knew he came running, saying the woods 
were all on fire behind us; then we ran for 
dear life. I know the fire came from where 
Herbert was — but he did not set it. You 
know that. Aunt Betsy, donT you?’^ 

Betsy bowed her head in her hands. “No, 
Herbert nary sot the fire. He is one of the 
boys that hes been kind tew me, alus bringing 
my mail and sich. IVe hearn him talk about 
his mother, he donT forgit her and her teach- 
ings. No, ye neednT tell me who ye think 
sot the fire. Jest go on with the rest of the 
story, for somethin’ must be done tew- 
night.” 


THE BELL COW 


53 


^^Oh, Aunt Betsy/^ wailed the girl, dropping 
on her knees by Aunt Betsy^s side and bury- 
ing her face in her lap. ^^DonT try. Please, 
dear Aunt Betsy, donT try tonight to find 
out who set the fire. Not tonight.^’ 

^^My poor dear child,^^ said the kind woman, 
patting the tangled mass of waving hair, 
'^ye sartainly aire wantin’ tew dew what is 
right; but we know Herbert hes done nothin’ 
wrong, and the only way is tew hev him come 
and all go tew yer father’s and find out all 
about it.” 

^^Oh, father is so unjust and hard. He 
said when they passed us this afternoon that 
he would put Herbert in jail if they caught 
him, — then what would poor old Mr. Hover 
do? Nothing would be left but the poor- 
house, and he is old. Oh, Aunt Betsy, just 
let me stay here tonight, and tomorrow he 
will be far away!” 

Seems tew me,” replied Betsy Hassway, 
^^if he is goin’ tew help his father he can’t 
dew it much by leavin’ him alone.” 

^^Oh, yes he can, dear Aunt Betsy. I am 
going to the cottage to take care of Mr. Hover. 
Herbert was bound to come back today, but 


54 


THE BELL COW 


I begged him to go, just for a day anyway. 
I clung to him until I got him to promise; 
then I ran from him through the dark meadow. 
Father turned me out today because I would 
have Herbert come, and we were taking a 
short route to his house through the woods. 

^^Now, Pauline, ye aire all excited. What 
ye hev planned will nary dew. What would 
folks say of him and you. Herbert must 
come back. He sartainly is not a coward.’’ 

^^Oh, Aunt Betsy, you do not understand. 
Herbert would be put in jail — my baby 
would be the child of a convict.” 

Betsy Hassway’s face grew pale and her 
arms slipped from the clinging girl; her parted 
lips grew ashy white, and big tears glistened 
in her eyes. But as she gazed upon the 
pitiful upturned face her hands came back 
caressingly, and the girl’s clinging arms crept 
around her neck. 

^^Oh, dear, good Aunt Betsy,” begged 
Pauline, pleadingly, don’t forsake Herbert 
and me now. If you do, what is left in this 
world for me? I couldn’t stand it with you 
thinking badly of me. I just couldn’t stand 
it.” 


THE BELL COW 


55 


My dear child, ye sartainly aire in need of 
a friend tewnight/^ 

^^Oh, yes, yes, and it’s you. Aunt Betsy! 
Let me stay until morning; then I’ll go and 
take care of Mr. Hover until Herbert can 
come and take me away.” 

Ye ain’t a tellin’ me, Pauline, that ye and 
Herbert hes strayed so far from the teachin’s 
of yer mothers. Oh, Bert, Bert! Ye hain’t 
forgot yer dead mother, hev ye? I can’t 
believe it of ye, that ye can sin so agin her 
and this poor girl; ye ware alus so good and 
kind, ye sartainly hain’t gone tew the bad 
like this!” 

The girl raised her head and looked Betsy 
squarely in the face. 

Listen, Aunt Betsy, and I will tell you. 
Herbert and I were married last summer. 
You remember the minister, Reverend Met- 
calf, who was at the Starkweather house? He 
married us before he went away. He said 
he would send us a certificate, but has not 
sent it yet. Why don’t he send it! Now 
no one will believe we were married.” 

^^Poor child. Poor child,” said Aunt Betsy 
softly. 


56 


THE BELL COW 


Herbert wrote to the address he gave, and 
the letter came back. Do you think, Aunt 
Betsy, there could be any mistake about his 
being a real minister? Do you think there 
could be any mistake? The girPs trembling 
hands brushed back Aunt Betsy’s gray locks 
from her wide, white brow, and the innocent 
childlike lips quivered as she waited for the 
reply. 

'^No, dearie. No man could be such a 
beast as tew dew such a thing tew innocent 
hearts like youm and Herbert’s.” She kissed 
the girl’s white forehead. ^^No. Such a thing 
cannot be. Now, come. Set up in this rock- 
ing chair and I will talk tew ye. 

Ye and Herbert hev made a orful mistake, 
but I am not goin’ tew scold ye. I am goin’ 
tew set tew work tew help ye. Ye can stay 
here all night, and in the mornin’ I will go 
and see yer folks. I will tell them the truth 
about the hull thing. It’s the only way. 
Of course, yer father is hard, and it bein’ his 
woods, and his not likin’ Herbert, nater’ly he 
will be hard tew reason with; but I know 
when he finds out how things be he will be a 
good father tew ye both, for ye hain’t in- 


THE BELL COW 


57 


tended tew dew no wrong, and that^s lots. 
When folks make mistakes, all the good-for- 
nothin’ scamps that set around on tater- 
barrels and nary dew nothin’ alus says pesky 
mean things; and folks who be meaner than 
pusley themselves alus want tew make out 
other folks be meaner than them. 

^^Now ye jest bathe yer poor, tired head 
and go tew bed, and don’t git up until I call 
ye. I will go over airly in the mornin’. Ye 
see, yer folks will be all over bein’ mad, 
thinkin’ ye aire still in the woods, and I will 
fix it all up and come back and git ye; then 
we will all on us take care of Benjamin Hover 
’till Herbert comes back.” 

Aunt Betsy sat by the girl as she lay in the 
snow white bed. The beautiful waving hair 
was loosened and fell carelessly around a face 
of unusual beauty. The long, black lashes 
rested on the pink cheeks, and the rosy lips 
smiled as they breathed the name of Herbert. 

^^Dear Aunt Betsy, how grand my Herbert 
is; how handsome and how strong! You 
should have seen him carrying me today. He 
leaped from fallen tree to tree, over brooks 
and little gullies. Once he knelt at a little 


58 


THE BELL COW 


stream and I drank from the palm of his big 
brown hand/^ 

An agonizing thought flashed through Aunt 
Betsy^s mind. Will Herbert return? Oh, 
God, was the man really a minister, or will the 
child be a child of shame? Could it be pos- 
sible that manly Herbert Hover had tricked 
and ruined this girl; had he set fire to the 
woods? She found herself speaking half 
aloud. ^^No, no,’’ she murmured. ^^It is 
too dreadful; it cannot be.” 

Cannot be!” remonstrated Pauline, open- 
ing wide her eyes, “Why, Aunt Betsy, he 
really did. You do not know how strong 
my Herbert is.” 

“Yis, yis, dearie,” said Aunt Betsy, com- 
ing to herself again, “I know Herbert, and 
how he used tew carry his mother out intew 
the garden arter she wus sick. He would 
kneel by each garden bed so she could pick 
the flowers herself with her poor knotted 
fingers. She uster call him her camel horse, 
’cause he hed tew kneel down and git up so 
much. Then I know when she got so she 
couldn’t lay down, he jest set on the bed 
holdin’ her and comfortin’ her. 


THE BELL COW 


59 


^^The last time I wus there, he was settin' 
a pattin’ the poor withered cheek and sayin^ 
comfortin^ words; and she says tew me, 
guess I can^t let my Bert go; he will hev tew 
ford the silent river with me/ And then 
Herbert stooped and kissed her and her poor 
tired face lit up in a smile, — such a smile of 
contentment — then she says, ‘My Herbert 
must not stay; he must come back arter I am 
safe across; then he must take some pretty 
lass by the hand and care for her, and tell her 
his mother is lovin’ both of um from the other 
side of the river, and watchin’ over um.’ 
For tew days and tew nights, at the last, he 
held her poor tired body, only leavin’ tew go 
intew the frest air a minute at a time, and 
she died with her head on his big strong 
shoulder. Now, a boy like that tew his 
mother ain’t never bad tew anyone. No, 
never!” 

“ Oh, Aunt Betsy, you always make every- 
body so happy. Bend down and let me kiss 
you again. That’s the way Herbert did to- 
day. Every time he had to dodge under a 
limb, it gave him an excuse to kiss me.” 

She threw out her pretty arms and laughed 


60 


THE BELL COW 


like an innocent child, forgetful of all but 
her love for Herbert. At last the long lashes 
commenced to droop, the words came lag- 
gingly, and soon the innocent child of the 
country was in the land of peaceful dreams. 
Betsy Hassway gazed at the sleeping girl 
with a sad face. 

Pauline in her dreams murmured, ^^How 
fast you run, Herbert dear. Kiss me my 
husband; kiss me my darling.’’ Aunt Betsy, 
from whose eyes were falling big, hot tears, 
arose and left her alone. 


CHAPTER VIL 


Betsy^s Fruitless Errand. 

As the great round, smiling face of the sun 
peeped over the crest of the eastern hills, 
Aunt Betsy stole silently from the cottage 
and hurriedly walked down the gravel path 
to the road. 

Silver-throated birds were calling in the 
orchard trees, as they glided from limb to 
limb, sipping drops of sparkling dew. From 
across broad acres of meadow land, came 
the echo of crowing cocks blending with the 
plaintive bleat of lambs in the pasture fields. 
Stretching over the grassy slopes were delicate 
white webs of spiders, like dainty bridal veils 
shimmering in the rays of the morning sun. 
Little blue violets lifted their dainty heads, 
filling with fragrance the morning air. The 
sun rose higher, sending bright streaks of 
radiant light down across the valley, and 
hfting the dew in misty beauty like the bil- 
lows of a silver sea. " From the forest covered 


62 


THE BELL COW 


hills came the low, heavy drum of a partridge, 
as though beating time to a glorious morning 
symphony. 

Aunt Betsy paused a moment at the gate 
to caress a little fluffy kitten perched high 
on the top of the gate-post, looking much 
like a little tuft of cotton, as it greeted her 
with a cordial meow. 

^^Why, Spottie/^ she said, ^^ye ain’t out 
here watchin’ for birds, be ye? I can’t hev 
none of my birds disturbed. Ye jest better 
skadaddle tew the house.” She lifted the 
kitten down and gave it a gentle start toward 
the house. 

Betsy Hassway’s face was very serious as 
she hurried down the lane leading to Farmer 
Hutton’s house. She was not one to ever 
shirk a duty, but she knew how unreasonable 
and hard Abel Hutton had always been, and 
some misgivings stole into her mind. As she 
turned into the driveway that led to the 
Hutton home, she beheld Mr. Hutton sitting 
on the old horseblock in front of the house. 

Abel Hutton was a robust farmer who had 
spent a life almost for himself. He had 
been exacting with his neighbors all his life. 



As she turned into the driveway she beheld Mr. Hutton 
sitting on the old horse-block 


■» 







' t 

J 




THE BELL COW 


63 


quarreling over the places line fences should 
be built, and infringing on their rights in 
many other ways. Many of the neighbors 
had not been on speaking terms with him 
for years. His wife, a meek little woman, 
faintly protested her rights at times, but a 
few harsh words from him in a loud tone soon 
whipped her into obedience. The children 
of the neighborhood feared him, and with 
bated breath scampered by the house on their 
way to school. He had never shown a tender 
feeling for anyone but Pauline. 

He had sent Pauline to the Academy, 
driving her back and forth each day, scolding 
all the way about the bother it made him, 
yet insisting that she should go. Occasion- 
ally he would slip a round silver dollar into 
her hand, at the same time storming about 
the continual leak out of his pocket, as he 
called it, from buying her clothes and the 
groceries for the house. 

But this particular morning, as Abel sat 
alone on the old horseblock, his form was 
bent in grief. The shame of his sending his 
daughter away with a curse, and the thought 
that perhaps her frail little form had been 


64 


THE BELL COW 


caught by the mad leaping flames in the 
forest, made him seem the nearest conquered 
he had ever been. 

He did not know of Betsy’s approach, for 
his back was toward her. She noted his 
attitude of despair as he leaned forward, his 
scanty, snow-white hair falling from under 
the old slouch hat that drooped over his ears, 
telling a tale of many summers of wear, but 
the principal thing she noticed was his air 
of loneliness and misery. 

^^Oh, what is a body tew say? What on 
airth is a body tew say? Seems as if I jest 
can’t tell it tew him and her. I hev been 
wishin’ all the way that I would find him 
calm, but now that he seems calm, I a’most 
wish he ware stormin’ as usual. It does so 
hurt tew wound another body when they be 
grievin’ already.” 

Mr. Hutton became aware of Betsy’s 
approach as she stepped upon a dead twig 
by the roadside, and in a moment he was 
facing her with all of his hard, unyielding 
nature manifesting itself in his unpleasant 
face. He was hollow-eyed, and the comers 
of his mouth were drawn down by suffering. 


THE BELL COW 


65 


He looked at Betsy a moment, as she stood 
before him gazing with her honest gray eyes 
into the cold, faded ones before her, then he 
asked in a loud voice, ^^Wa^al, what dew ye 
want?^’ 

want tew dew what I can for ye and 
Mary Desire. I thought mebby I could help 
ye this mornin\ Think I can help ye find out 
somethin^ about the childern that hes went.^^ 

^^Wa^al, if that^s all ye come for, ye better 
trapse back hum. I hainT sent for ye and 
I donT want ye around here pryin’ in. Ye 
ainT the fust old wag- tongue that hes ben 
here meddlin\^^ 

This was quite a set-back for Betsy, but 
she stood her ground, hardly knowing how 
she could proceed after such a rebuff; she 
finally found courage to add : I know some- 
thin’ about where they be. Won’t ye help 
me, Abel, tew tell ye easy like? I hain’t nary 
carried news, and ye know it. All I am 
here for is ’cause I hed tew come, and I tell 
ye tha wan’t no one else who knows where 
Pauline is but me.” 

This remark must have sunk deeply into 
the old man’s heart. One unfamiliar with 


66 


THE BELL COW 


the ways of these old country folk might 
have thought he did not hear what she said, 
since he did not reply or make a move; but 
Aunt Betsy knew she was gaining ground, 
and she breathed easier as she gazed at him, 
his hard, cold face turned away toward the 
meadow land. She noticed a slight quiver 
of his lips, but that was all. 

'^Pauline was under my roof all night, 
and I hev come tew tell ye and Mis’ Hutton 
about it.” 

He slowly turned his face toward Betsy 
Hassway, his ashy lips were parted as if 
about to speak; he lifted a trembling hand 
to his forehead and the old slouch hat went 
tumbling at his feet. The bony old hand 
went slowly out toward Betsy. 

'^My Pauline. Tell me, Betsy. Tell me 
she ain’t dead.” 

^^No, Abel, she ain’t dead.” 

This news did not have the effect that 
Betsy Hassway desired. Immediately, the 
old man was rigid and as unapproachable 
as ever. Again he turned his gaze toward 
the meadows. 

^^Abel, ye don’t nary mean tew be a ha’sh 


THE BELL COW 


67 


man, but yet ye have alus hed yer way. 
Sometimes ’twan^t best. Now hes come a 
time when, if ye don^t gin in a leetle, ye will 
wish ye hed died afore this momin^ sun 
shone on ye. Ye aire in a orful scrape, and 
I be the only one that knows it except yer 
Pauline and Herbert.’^ 

The old man turned his face toward her 
as if to speak, but, changing his mind, looked 
away again across the rolling meadow. 

I don^t hardly know how tew tell ye, but 
Pauline hed tew leave Mary Desire and ye 
yistidy after yer tumin^ Herbert out, ^cause 
they be married. Herbert nary set the fire. 
They don’t know who did it. Pauline hes 
told how he carried her in his strong arms 
through the bumin’ woods ahead of the 
flames, and saved her life. Twas yer leetle 
Pauline’s life he saved, Abel. He did that 
yistidy, and they beam yer threats about 
puttin’ him in jail, and he hes went tew hunt 
work so as tew provide for her and his lame 
old father. They thought it ware best so, 
’till it came out who sot the fire.” 

The old man arose and turned toward her, 
his eyes flashing with rage. 


68 


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told ye, Betsy, I didnT want tew hear 
yer tattle. She hes went away of her own 
accord, arter I sent her tew the Academy 
and sich. Then she wanted tew trapse 
around with a no-account like Bert Hover. 
He hainT got nothin^ nor never will hev. 
The lazy critter, hangin^ around fussin^ with 
his mother nigh on tew tew year when he 
orter ben gittin^ somethin^ ahead. Tha wa^nT 
no way of savin’ her, and if he hed left her 
alone she would hev went a sight sooner and 
saved doctor bills and sich. Ye needn’t come 
tew me with no lyin’ story about they bein’ 
married. I ain’t believin’ nothin’ ye say.” 

Down the path to the gate came Mrs. 
Hutton, a thin little woman with an anxious 
face. Only her extreme anxiety about her 
child gave her courage to approach her hus- 
band, unbidden. 

‘^Oh, Betsy, did I hear ye say somethin’ 
about Pauline. I shall die if I don’t hear 
soon where they be.” 

Pauline is with me. I jest stepped over 
tew tell ye all about it, but Abel says he won’t 
listen no more.” 

Thank God! Thank God, ye hev come!” 


THE BELL COW 


69 


exclaimed the nervous little woman, embrac- 
ing Betsy. 

^^Oh, yis, he will listen, wonT ye, Pa?^^ she 
said, approaching him timidly. 

^^No, I wonT listen!^’ he almost screamed, 
turning toward his wife in a rage. 

^^Oh, Abel, she is all we hev. Fll die if 
she donT come back tew us. Go on, Betsy, 
dew!^^ 

Wa^al, Herbert and her wus married last 
summer, and now ye must let her claim him 
as her man or ye will be sorry that ye ever hed 
a daughter.” 

Oh, Betsy, what be ye a tellin^ ! Aire ye 
meanin’ all ye say? Oh, how can I ask ye. 
I know ye nary deceive anyone. Go on. 
Go on.” 

The preacher that boarded at Stark- 
weather's a while that time married them, 
then he went away and they hainT hearn 
from him, and he hainT sent no certificate. 
They were waitin^ for it, fearin^ ye wouldnT 
believe they ware married ; but she is yer own, 
and ye hev tew trust yer own, for if ye donT, 
who will. CanT ye both see how yer actions 
now will either start tongues waggin' or 


70 


THE BELL COW 


set them tew rest? CanT ye see it?’^ 
Mrs. Hutton sank down on the horseblock 
by her husband, and buried her face in her 
hands. The old man shook as one with 
palsy. He raised his clenched fists above his 
head; his face was livid with fury. 

Fools! Fools! All on ye! Ye aire jest like 
gabblin’ childern. Now, Fll tell ye somethin’. 
Now ye both listen tew me. That man wan’t 
no preacher and Herbert knew it tew. That 
devil, he hes tricked my child — tricked her, 
damn him! And now he hes set fire tew my 
woods and would hev burned her tew cover 
up his crime. Ye go back, Betsy Hassway, 
and tell them not tew step foot on my land. 
’Tain’t safe. Dew ye hear? ’Tain’t safe!” 
^^Oh, Abel, Abel!” wailed his wife. 

^^Shet up. I ain’t goin’ tew hear another 
word from now on. We hain’t got no child. 
Let her take herself out of the neighborhood. 
She might as well go on with him for all I 
care, disgracin’ us arter all I hev done for 
her. Now, Betsy Hassway, take yerself back 
down the lane, and don’t ye ary speak tew 
me agin. If ye dew, I won’t hear ye.” 

The old man trudged toward the bam, 


THE BELL COW 


71 


muttering to himself. Betsy watched him, 
and noticed that he staggered and caught the 
barn door to keep from falling. 

wish I was dead!^^ sobbed poor Mrs. 
Hutton. hainT nothin^ tew live for now. 
I’m afraid Abel will kill him and her. Oh, 
God, what shall I dew!” 

'^Poor Mary Desire,” said Betsy, putting 
her arms around the frail little woman. Ye 
hev hed a hard row tew hoe, but ye hev alus 
done yer best, and I ain’t goin’ tew believe 
God is goin’ tew see ye suffer alus.” 

^^Oh, Betsy, Betsy!” moaned the woman; 
^^Gin me a leetle hope some way — Dew say 
somethin’ tew gin me a leetle hope.” 

There, there, Mis’ Hutton. Pauline is 
all right at my house, and we will let her go 
tew Benjamin Hover’s, as she wants tew, and 
I will meet you ever’ day when Abel is in the 
field, and tell ye all about her. Arter a 
while we will find out who sot the fire, and 
then we will prove they be married. I think 
Herbert may come hum tew-day.” 

hope he won’t,” said the poor little 
woman, glancing toward the bam. 

^^Wa’al, then, I think mebby he won’t,” 


72 


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soothed Betsy. Anyway, I shanT turn agin 
them, and I know Ebenezer Cronk wonT; and 
Patience Scoville will dew jest as I tell her 
tew dew, so Pauline will hev at least three 
friends anyway.^^ 

Thank ye. Thank ye, Betsy. Ye aire 
alus so good and I don’t dast airy dew any- 
thin’ kind for ye on account of him,” said 
Mrs. Hutton, again casting a frightened look 
toward the barn. 

Wa’al, ye never mind, Mary Desire. 
Everybody knows yer heart is right. I hev 
alus noticed that folks ye aire the best tew 
can’t alus dew kind things for ye, but when 
they send ye kind thoughts, that helps ye a 
sight. Some folks I try tew dew the best 
things tew hain’t alus treated me well in re- 
turn, but jest the same. Mis’ Hutton, each 
time tew or three other folks hev done me a 
kindness in their places, for kindness gin a 
body alus comes back ten fold. Don’t ye 
gin up. Ye jest set yer mind a thinkin’ this 
is cornin’ out all right, and ’twill. Look at 
yer man! My sakes! ’Tain’t much trouble 
tew see why he ain’t happy, thinkin’ sich bad 
thoughts; but ye jest wait, he will hev tew 


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change. He can go jest so far and then he 
will find a wall and will hev tew come back. 
Good land! All his rippin’ and ravin^ hainT 
hurt me any, so but what tew leetle kind 
words from ye hes healed it all. Yer kind 
thoughts for folks aire a dewin^ a sight more 
good than ye know.^^ 

The women parted. Aunt Betsy walked 
slowly down the lane, pondering on what 
next might be her best move. 

^^Tha hain^t no use tryin^ tew dew any- 
thin' more with that old rip — the mean old 
slink," she said, then hurriedly added, Mercy 
sakes, how I be a talkin'! Almost swearin', 
my sakes! Wa'al, anyway, all the news the 
neighbirs git they will hev tew git from me, 
as none won't dast tew ast Abel and stand 
a chance of gittin' killed, and no one will 
dast tew go tew see Mary Desire, for Abel 
will be watchin'. I will jest say I knowed 
they ware married quite a long spell afore 
their folks did. I am sure a night like last 
night is a orful long spell. 

^^Tha hain't no use tellin' Pauline her pa 
is jumpin' around and ravin' like a lunatic, 
for she wouldn't recognize him if he wan't. 


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ril jest go right over in the field and tell 
Ebenezer Cronk all about it. My sakes, 
what a wonderful man Ebenezer is — my 
sakes!^' 

Aunt Betsy little realized that still greater 
trouble was in store for poor little Pauline. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


The First Day at School. 

At the forks of the road where the rail 
fences, coming from all parts of the valley, 
swaying, zigzagging and falling, finally meet 
and seem to commune, — telling tales of the 
long ago — stood the old white schoolhouse, a 
quaint little building that seemed to shrink 
timidly toward the back of the barren school 
lot. With swinging blinds, the low windows 
like sad eyes stared vacantly down the wind- 
ing valley. The slanting roof mournfully 
overhung the walls. The schoolhouse seemed 
like some timid little thing forced out in the 
open and compelled to stay against its will. 
No trees stood near to keep it company, but 
the sunbeams came in plenty. 

When the first rays shone down the valley 
in early morning, they hurried to the little 
brown roof and kissed away the drops of 
sparkling dew; then when night time came 
again, the last rays lit up the sad little win- 


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dows, making them glow with a radiant light, 
and seemed to say, We will do what we can 
for you, you poor lonesome little thing, be- 
fore you are left to wait all alone through the 
long, chilly night/’ 

Rank weeds grew in the yard where meadow 
mice scampered unmolested. A phoebe-bird 
on the top of the flag-pole chirped out his 
plaintive song of Phoebe! Phoebe!” with 
many jerks of his tiny head and tail. A 
woodchuck, sitting on his haunches, whistled 
away in mild contentment to his mate and 
little chucks so cosily snuggled in the hole 
he had dug under the rickety old walk. But- 
tercups and daisies nodded their pretty heads 
at each other as if in friendly conversation. 

But a change was to come over the whole 
place, for now had come the first day of 
school. The children were having a great 
going over”; necks and ears were being 
scrubbed and hair plastered down and plaited 
in the conventional pigtail style. Finally all 
was in readiness and they marched forth 
much like little wooden dolls fearful of getting 
disarranged on the way. 

Many mothers went along to explain why 


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some of the children were bright, why some 
were foolish, and also why some had to be 
petted and others spanked. Alas that some 
parents came because their offspring had to 
be brought! 

Miss Parker, the teacher, had come from 
the city to teach her first term of school. 
She was a pleasant faced young woman, with a 
sweet personality, and one bound to be loved 
by children. 

She unlocked the rickety door which 
groaned a welcome as she swung it over. She 
walked into the cheerless room and smiled 
as she looked about at the barren walls; she 
raised the little windows and the fragrant air 
swept through. Then she stopped and gazed 
down the road where the children were strag- 
gling along, their bright-colored dinner-pails 
flashing in the morning sunlight. 

Willie and Salvation were the first to ar- 
rive. Miss Parker greeted them with a 
cheery Good-morning.^^ Willie hurried to 
her. 

I brought you these flowers. Aunt Betsy 
said mebby you would like to have them 
’cause the schoolhouse looks so much like a 


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bam, she said it ought to look more happy. 
Do you think it ought to or hadnT ought 
to, which? I think like Aunt Betsy, and so 
does Salvation.’’ 

^'0, yes, we will arrange things nicely 
soon,” she answered. ^^And so you children 
live with your auntie?” 

^^Yes,” they answered simply. 

They were interrupted by a very talkative 
little woman leading a little girl. How-do. 
How-do. My name is Dodge. Your name? 
Ahem; yes; Miss Parker. Yes. Wa’al, this is 
my lee tie dearie I’m leadin’. She’s a orful ner- 
vous child — jest orful nervous — and she must 
hev attention ever’ minute. Ye must watch 
and when ye see any of the other younguns 
with anything she wants, it’s best to make 
them let her hev it right away, for she hes 
fits if she is crossed in any way. Then she 
must be out in the yard a good deal, but 
always watched. I think ye better hev the 
older younguns watch her. And she learns 
better by ye repeatin’ things over and over 
tew her, instid of her studyin’ any. And be 
orful kerful about crossin’ her in any way on 
account of her bein’ fitty.” 


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The child listened attentively to all her 
mother said, then commenced to squirm 
around and pull back. 

^^Jest see, Miss Parker, how nervous my 
leetle dearie is. Ye see how she is a actin\^' 
ain^t nervous!’^ screamed the child; 
itch!^^ 

^^No, you donT itch,’^ said Mrs. Dodge, 
trying desperately to hang on to the child as 
she jerked to get away. 

^^Yes, I do itch!^^ 

^^No, ye don't itch!" 

^^Yes!" 

^^No!" 

Yes.r^ 

Down went the child, limp in the legs, 
squealing and fighting. 

Mercy me. Miss Parker, I dew believe my 
leetle dearie is goin' tew hev a nervous spell 
right now. It alus begins by her losin' con- 
trol of her laigs and failin' down. My sakes! 
How nervous she is this mornin'." 

Willie Wooster, who had been watching 
the performance, suddenly ran to the window 
and cried, ''Oh, see! A kite! A kite!" 

The little girl immediately got control of 


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her legs, scrambled to her feet and ran after 
him, calling, Where? Where?” 

But the teacher^s attention was diverted. 
Without knocking, a woman came in pulling 
along a rather fat boy who walked sidewise 
with his head cocked over. He was playing 
with a string and grinning. 

^^This is Emerson Shakespeare Sill,” in- 
troduced the new-comer in a condescending 
tone. ^^He is behind some in his studies, 
but unusually bright in other ways. He 
jest reasons like a grown person. He gits 
orful interested when I am explaining deep 
problems tew him; I nary did see anybody 
his age forgit themselves so. Ye jest see, 
teacher, if the first time ye explain a orful 
war or somethin’ nuther, ye don’t notice he is 
more interested than ary one on um! He 
alus jest forgits ever thin’ and bends his 
leetle head way down on his breast and 
drools ! Bless his heart. Whose boy be 
ye, Emerson Shakespeare? Come — answer 
quick!” 

^^Ma’s and Pa’s,” drawled the child. 

There. Dew ye see how quick he is? 
I nary let him play with other childern, on 


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81 


account of his bein’ so orful bright. They 
can’t understand him. Then I don’t want 
him spiled by playin’ with naughty, bad 
children; so I shall expect ye tew read tew 
him noons and recesses. 

^^We aire a’most sure he is goin’ tew be a 
artist or writer, he’s so ’stremely bright. He 
is relation on my side tew a man who helps 
print the funny page in the Journal^ and we 
both hope our leetle Emerson Shakespeare hes 
humor in his blood also, and will write jokes. 

ware astin’ one of the boarders at Mis’ 
Starkweather’s if he knew of any college 
where we could send him tew arter he got 
through here, where he could be learnt all 
the jokes that there be, so as tew write um 
over again for the magazines and papers like 
so many aire a dewin’ now. He said he 
would advise me tew send Emerson Shake- 
speare tew the funny house as soon as possible. 
Ye see, that man — jest the same as every one 
else — sees the fun jest s tickin’ right out of my 
leetle Emerson Shakespeare.” 

Willie Wooster slyly whispered to Salva- 
tion, ^^Just ’tween you and me, I think 
Emerson Shakespeare Sill is an igett.” 


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Fortunately for Miss Parker, the monologue 
was interrupted by the arrival of a woman 
leading two pretty little girls. These aire 
my tew pair of twin, Miss Parker. Ye may 
think they both look like the other, but ye 
will find out the more ye see of them that 
there^s a difference’ tween t’other and which.” 

^^What are their names?” asked Miss 
Parker, putting her hands on the golden 
heads. 

^'Bromide and Formaldehide,” answered 
the little woman. have a cousin who is 
a doctor, and out of respect of him I named 
them names I have hearn him speak of, and 
they must be dear friends of hisen, for I hev 
heam him speak their names so often. He 
hain’t heard about the twin’s names, and I 
know he will be pleased when he comes out 
here this summer.” 

As it was nearly nine o’clock, the last 
adult came hurriedly. She was jerking along 
a little boy by the arm and he was holding 
back; but she was making him walk spry, 
and scolding him as she came. She was a 
woman with a sour kind of politeness, and 
she half whispered when she spoke. 


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83 


buzzed Willie behind a protecting 
palm, ^^AinT that old woman fierce? She 
looks just so she thought Mamit^ about all 
little folks like us/’ 

Salvation hurriedly covered the moving 
lips with her hand. ^^Quit talkin’, Willie, 
she might come this way.” But Willie 
added, when Salvation removed her little 
hand, I’m goin’ to help that kid put a awful 
crimp in that old woman if I have to go back 
to the city on crutches!” 

Just then the woman jerked the child to- 
ward the teacher. ^^This is a awful wicked 
leetle boy, and ye better git a gad right away 
and set it in the corner for him tew ponder on.” 

The boy tried to get away, turned partly 
around, and saw Willie for the first time. He 
scowled and shook his fist. Willie smiled 
back and continued his conversation to Sal- 
vation. '' He is goin’ to be my pal I think — 
I like him.” 

The woman yanked the boy around and 
continued, ''He ain’t my boy and I don’t 
want him, but his mother won’t have him, 
so what is a body tew dew with the miserable 
leetle scamp? I gin him a lickin’ ever’ day. 


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and then he begun bringin’ me gads tew use 
on him, — did ye airy hear the like, — then he 
begun callin’ me ^Old Lickerish’ on account 
of my trouncin’ him so much!” 

Again she gave him a jerk. Stand up 
and turn out yer toes. Don’t act like a 
dunce. Come back here, I say; don’t be 
adgin’ away. I’ve a good mind tew gin ye 
a good shakin’ right now.” 

Willie again whispered away in Salvation’s 
ear. ^^When I see folks act that way, I am 
’shamed that I am a human boy and belong 
to such a bunch; then I think of Aunt Betsy 
and Uncle Eb, and change my mind.” 

Why, Aunt Betsy’s old sow treats her little 
piggies better than that,” Salvation responded. 

should say she does. Salvation. Why, 
one day I threw a little bit of stick into the 
pen to make them skadaddle around just for 
fun, and she got awful swelled at me, and 
said ^Woof! Woof!’ I guess that is a cuss 
word in the pig dictionary, for she said it so 
awful mad.” 

At last the women departed, the school was 
called to order, and Miss Parker stood smil- 
ing upon her pupils. 


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85 


^^Now, children, I am not going to tell you 
a lot of things not to do, but we are all going 
to find many things for our hands and minds 
to accomplish, and I know we shall be very 
happy here together, trying to do our work. 
We will not take our books just yet. Sup- 
pose you take your slates and let me see how 
well you write? Each one might write out 
something nice that he would like to do.^^ 

Immediately a little brown hand flew up. 
It belonged to Skinny’’ Bowersock, an urchin 
with freckles and red hair. 

^^What is it?” asked Miss Parker. 

Kin we write what we want tew be when 
we’re big?” 

Certainly, if you wish.” 

Immediately, there was a great scratching 
on the slates as little noses almost touched 
the pencils. One little girl sat demurely 
with folded hands. 

“Why, my dear, are you not going to 
write for me, and tell what you wish to 
do?” 

“Oh, no, I won’t hev tew,” answered the 
little Miss, “’cause I’m goin’ tew be rich and 
set around and dew nothin’.” 


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Soon the slates were piled upon the teach- 
er^s desk. The last one to bring his slate was 
the boy the teacher had been advised to whip. 
The slates were not piled evenly. He shoved 
them together, making a square pile. 

Thank you/^ said Miss Parker, ^^You ob- 
serve, — thaPs a fine thing for any boy or 
girl. Now, children, who else observes? Tell 
me about something of interest you have 
seen.’’ 

Immediately Willie’s hand went up. 
found out yesterday there is a awful difference 
in hens.” 

^^In what way, dear?” asked Miss Parker. 

^^Well, I watched old Speckle all day, and 
she only laid one egg; and then I heard an- 
other hen cackle and fly off, and I went 
to her nest and she had laid five.” 

“ Teacher ! Teacher ! ” screamed little Man- 
da Smithers, sitting part way back in the 
room. Frog Withers hes put somethin’ 
down my back and it’s cold and squirming 
like gowdy! Oh! Ouch! Take it out, it’s 
diggin’! It’s a diggin’ wuss and wuss! Boo, 
hoo! Teacher! Teacher! Ouch!” 

Little Manda ran madly down the aisle, 


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clawing at her back. She turned herself 
around and danced in front of Miss Parker 
while her dress was hurriedly unbuttoned. 
Out jumped a little gray toad, landing in the 
teacher’s lap. She uttered a little cry, jumped 
to her feet, and the toad went hopping across 
the floor. 

^^Boo, hoo! Frog Withers is the meanest 
boy!” sobbed Manda. ^^Alus hes a toad in 
his pocket or else chasin’ someun with a 
snake. Boo, hoo! Teacher, won’t ye lick 
him like timeration? Boo, hoo! Now I’ll 
hev warts on my back, Wa — wa — wa — 
warts!” shrilled Manda, beginning to cry in 
a higher key. 

^^Hush, child, hush. Freddie, come right 
here to me. What do you mean by putting 
a toad down Manda’s back? Come, why did 
you do such a thing? ” 

The urchin hung his head and faltered, 
^^Why — why — a toad ain’t nothin’; then be- 
sides, Manda’s dress gapped open, and I 
guess the toad got sick of bein’ in my pocket, 
and he was cold tew. I didn’t put him in. 
Honest, teacher, honest. I jest let him see 
where Manda’s dress was open at the neck, 


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and I guess he thought it looked invitin’, 
’cause he jumped right in.” 

“And now I’ll hev wa — ^wa — ^warts!” re- 
commenced Manda. 

“Freddie, you may be seated. I will talk 
with you after school.” 

Suddenly a loud report came from the rear 
of the schoolroom. Miss Parker bit her lip 
thoughtfully as she gazed in the direction 
from whence the sound came. 

“ Can anyone tell me what that noise was? ” 

“Yes, Teacher,” piped a little girl. “ Scrub 
Norcutt sprinkled sugar all over his speller, 
and when a hull lot of flies got lit, he banged 
it tewgether and squshed um all. Tee — he — 
he — he!” 

“Children, I must have better order!” 

The forenoon wore away, and finally noon- 
time came. The children who lived near 
went home to their dinners, but most of them 
brought lunches and were now seated at the 
shady side of the schoolhouse, where many 
little dickers were going on as maple sugar 
was exchanged for hard boiled eggs, etc. 

Miss Parker sat at her desk with her own 
little lunch spread out before her. A smile 


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89 


played about her lips as she thought over 
the occurrences of the forenoon. ^^They are 
queer little folks/’ she mused, “but I love 
them — every one.” 

A great yellow butterfly floated through 
the open window, and after flitting aimlessly 
around the schoolroom, settled upon the 
bouquet that Willie had brought, slowly 
waving its gaudy wings as if to display them 
to the little teacher. The droning song of 
bees came in on the perfume laden breezes. 
Miss Parker clasped her white hands joy- 
ously and cried aloud, “It is all so quaint — 
I love it. I love it!” 

Soon a tap — a — tap — tap was heard on the 
roof, as the children commenced the game of 
“Anty over.” Each time the ball bounced 
a little higher, then Anally over the roof it 
would go, and an eager voice would cry, 
“Anty, anty, o ver-r-r-r-r ! ” Then a wild 
scampering around the schoolhouse would 
follow with many shouts and much laughter. 
Finally the children wandered away at other 
games, and their voices came faintly back to 
her. 

Miss Parker decided that now was a good 


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opportunity to pen a note home, but as she 
was about to begin, she heard a wild scream 
coming from the corner of the schoolyard, 
followed by a wail, long drawn out. She 
thought it only a little dispute, and decided 
not to interfere, but soon the screams grew 
louder, mingled with the call of “Teacher! 
Teacher She hurried to the yard to find 
one little chubby boy stuffing a handful of 
mud into another youngster^s mouth. 

“ Stop that immediately,^^ commanded Miss 
Parker. 

“I got stinged by a bumblebee wailed 
the child. “Oh, dee! Oh, dee!^^ 

“Yeth,’^ lisped the other child, “and I 
wath ze doctah.^^ 

“He telled me I could suck honey out of 
a bumblebee, and it stinged me on ze tongue. 
Oh, dee, dee!’^ 

“Yeth, and I puth a mud poultith on hith 
tongue. I ith ze doctah.^^ 

“Teacher! Teacher!’^ called an excited 
boy running in the road. “Come quick! 
Manda Smithers hes fell in the crick and got 
drownded ! 

“Oh, goodness gracious !^^ exclaimed Miss 


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91 


Parker, as she skipped along. ^^What on 
earth will happen next!’^ 

She knew the water was deep below the 
bridge. She could see the children running 
about, and her eyes caught sight of Frog 
Withers as he bravely plunged into the 
stream. There was a great splash, and when 
she reached the bridge, little Manda was 
standing on the bank looking much like a 
drowned rat, her little thin arms around the 
neck of the terrible boy whom she had 
requested the teacher to trounce. 

^^Some one jest gin me a shove ’cause I be 
afraid of crabs.” 

^^No, Manda,” came a chorus of voices, “ye 
ware gaupin’ at the crabs and walked right 
off of the bridge.” 

“I didn’t neether.” 

“Ye did teether.” 

“ Children, children, stop it. Stop it ! Fred- 
die, take Manda home. It’s time now for us 
to go to the school-house.” 

Soon the children were back in their seats, 
fanning themselves with their geography 
covers, and protruding their lower Ups in an 
effort to cool their hot foreheads by blowing 


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upward. At last they became interested in 
their lessons, and Miss Parker felt that her 
little school was running smoothly. Not a 
sound was heard in the little building, all 
were so intent on their work, when suddenly 
footsteps and knocking echoed from the 
entry. 

Miss Parker went to the door and ushered 
in two women. They were very thin and 
weatherbeaten looking, and their faces, peer- 
ing out from beneath their faded sun-bonnets, 
were flushed with feeling. 

^^Pm Mis^ Bowersock,^^ spoke up one of 
the women as they entered, “and she is Mis^ 
Boggs,^^ she continued, pointing to the other 
woman. “ I come tew find out why my Lizzie 
ware slapped and called names. I jest want 
tew know that, I dew.’’ 

“Why, I do not know what you mean!” 
answered Miss Parker in surprise. 

“Wa’al, when my leetle Lizzie wus goin’ 
home for her dinner this noon, a mindin’ her 
business and pintin’ her nose straight for the 
house, Nannie Boggs come right up to her 
and slapped her jest as hard as she could 
right on the forward, and then when Lizzie 


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93 


said she would tell me, she yelled arter her, 
^Tattle-tail, tattle-tail, ten times as long^s a 
rail/ I jest ainT goin’ tew stand no sich usin’. 
I went and brung Mis’ Boggs here tew settle 
it, and I want her tew understand right now 
that the Bowersockses aire jest as good as the 
Boggses ever thought of bein’, and we ain’t 
takin’ no sass from any of their fambly.” 

Wa’al, ye may be as good as the Boggses,” 
piped in Mrs. Boggs, ^^but nobody ary hearn 
of any of the Boggses borrowin’ a sassage 
grinder for a leetle spell, and then keepin’ it 
alus.” 

^^Wa’al,” snapped back Mrs. Bowersock, 
folks don’t dump a bag full of cats in our 
dureyard ever’ night on account of not likin’ 
us as they dew tew some folks. I guess the 
Bowersockses hain’t got tew be the dumpin’ 
ground for all the cats in the neighborhood 
jest yit.” 

^^Well, ladies,” interrupted Miss Parker, 
^'be seated. I think we better ask the chil- 
dren about this affair.” 

The children came forth sheepishly and 
were questioned. It was finally decided, after 
much talking, that the slap was a joke or 


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an accident, and gradually the atmosphere 
cleared; the women took their departure 
chatting pleasantly as they went down the 
road, and the school resumed its quietness. 

Little Manda returned clad in a dry frock, 
her two little pig-tails of hair standing out 
more determined than ever, — a result of 
recent plaiting. 

Closing time came. Miss Parker tapped 
the tiny bell. ^^Do not be late tomorrow 
morning, children; you are now dismissed.^’ 

There was a great hurrying, as the children 
sought their hats and dinner-pails to depart. 
Manda Smithers made her way to the teacher, 
and stood with downcast eyes. 

^^What is it, Manda? 

wus wishin’ I hednT ast ye tew trounce 
Frog Withers, ^ cause mebby I would hev 
drownded if he hednT yanked me out. IVe 
kinda forgin’ him ’cause he tuck me home and 
gin me a Jewsharp.” 

^^Well, I am very glad, dear, that you and 
Freddie have made it up. He has promised 
me he will not bring any more toads or snakes 
into the schoolroom. Now, run along. Good- 
night.” 


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95 


wish ye would come tew our house 
vis^tin\ Mebby Ma would hev gravy for the 
taters if ye would. Nobody comes tew our 
house, and it^s orful lonsome.^^ 

''Bless your little heart,'' said the teacher, 
touched by the sad-faced child. She stopped 
and gave the thin little thing a tender caress. 
"Now, good-night, Manda." 

"Good-night, Teacher, I like ye orful well. 
Jest orful, orful well," and little pigeon-toed 
Manda went slowly away. 

The sun was bidding the valley good- 
night; once more the windows of the little 
schoolhouse were covered with warm, glorious 
tints. The little teacher closed the creaking 
door and walked slowly down the winding 
road, looking very much, in her spotless 
white and gray, like a quaint little Quakeress. 
The crickets began their evening song, and 
one lone peep-toad piped a solo in the marsh. 
The girl began to call to the hills as she strolled 
along, as she had heard the children call, and 
the echo came back sweetly. "It's glorious 
out here," she said. "I love it." 

Again the little phoebe-bird sat undis- 
turbed in its nest beneath the drooping 


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eaves, and once more the gray woodchuck 
peeped out from beneath the walk. The 
light faded from the little windows, which 
seemed like weary eyes closing in sleep. 
The little schoolhouse took on an air of deso- 
lation, for it was night. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A Morning Visit. 

One very windy morning, Mrs. McGinn 
started down the roadway leading to Betsy 
Hassway^s cottage. She wore a sunbonnet 
with a flap at the neck; her waist had another 
flap at the belt, and both flaps stood straight 
up in the breeze, making her look like a huge 
setting hen that had been driven from its 
nest, and was ready to fly at some one for 
vengeance. 

Mrs. McGinn trudged along, talking to 
herself, seeming very much “roiled up^' 
about something, as she usually was when 
she made her daily visits to Betsy Hassway's. 
A red squirrel ran along on the fence just 
ahead of her, occasionally stopping to sit 
up on a post and view this mountain of flesh; 
finally he hurried into a hollow rail and 
cautiously peeped out, as much as to say, 
“Well, what is it all about, old woman? 

Perhaps the red squirrel found out, for, as 


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Mrs. McGinn passed the corner of the fence, 
she was saying: ^^Indade, Fve a notion to 
kape sorry a borther no longer. They roil 
me up so that if Oi was compilled to schtay 
roight wid um ivery minute Oi^d hev V come 
away at toimes.” She turned toward the 
cottage, wheezing and puffing, and at last, 
with a final grunt, she landed on Betsy Hass- 
way’s lounge. 

Miss Betsy usually let Mrs. McGinn get her 
breath and scold a while, then they would 
have a good visit. 

Finally Mrs. McGinn launched forth,^^ Betsy, 
this marnin’ Oi wus insulted by wan of me 
own borthers, an^ Oi^m bilin’ mad with rage.^’ 

^^Ye donT say!^^ exclaimed Miss Betsy. 

^'Indade Oi do say wid all me force,’^ re- 
plied Mrs. McGinn. ^^Whin I git to be a 
laughin’ stock of all me borthers it’s toime 
fer ma to foire ivery wan of um; ivery wan.” 

What would Sarah Ann Starkweather be a 
sayin’ when she come hum an’ had no board- 
ers? Ye better use jedgment. Mis’ McGinn, 
if it does kinda ranker ye a leetle a dewin’ 
it. But what hes set ye tew worryin’ an 
fumin’ tew-day?” 


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99 


‘‘Ye know tha little mon thot come lasth 
wake? ” replied Mrs. McGinn. “ His craziness 
leads to walkin’. Iviry marnin’, he gits 
some one t’ walk foive moils an’ back. Oi 
told ’im t’wod do ’im as much good t’ play 
tinnis or gof wid the bunch instid of goin’ 
walkin’ iviry marnin all alone wid himself. 
He laughed t’ schplit an’ Oi didn’t loike it, 
yit Oi kipt me timper in me busom, an’ said 
nothin’; but today I schpoke t’ ’im agin’ 
’cause ivery day fer a wake me borthers hev 
ben sayin’ afther lunch, ‘Wa musth play 
bridge.’ Thin in a little whoile tha forget 
all about it an’ go out under tha threes an 
play cairds. Today Oi remoinded tha little 
mon thot some day tha are goin’ to play 
bridge, an’ whin ye do, says Oi, Oi want t’ 
go t’ th’ crick wid ye an watch ye. Sure it’s 
dape in places, an’ ye moight ba a failin’ 
in an’ git yerself wit from tha ankle up. He 
yelled and laughed loike Oi was jokin’ wid 
’im. Sure, he’s no gintlemon!” 

“ Wa’al,” said Miss Betsy, “I hev made up 
my mind long ago that city folks is well 
meanin’ but curious creeters, — orful curious; 
but the hain’t no use gittin’ mad. Mis’ McGinn. 


100 


THE BELL COW 


Why, toother day Ebenezer would a ben mad 
as a hornet if he ware at all techy. He went 
over tew Ginnytown with old Kate an^ the 
platform with tew of the new men tew git some 
dogs they hed sent out, an^ comin^ back he 
hearn em sayin’ they ware a goin’ tew com- 
mence fencin^ that arternoon. Wa’al, Eb- 
enezer ware a tellin’ me ’bout it, an’ he said 
they wus so white livered an’ peeked lookin’ 
he jest knowd they hedn’t done fencin’ tew 
any great extent. They gin him more pay 
than he asked, fer goin’ arter the dogs, so he 
said he’d jest show um he wan’t no seedlin’, 
an’ would go up an’ help um fix fence. 

Ebenezer hed the maul an’ weges tew 
carry, an’ as I ware a goin’ up tew Stoneum, 
I carried the spikes fer him. Wa’al, when we 
got up tew the house, there they ware out in 
the yard with their sleeves rolled up, an’ 
with somethin’ like squirrel cages over their 
heads, an’ they ware eyin’ each other, an’ 
walkin’ ’round, an’ then they would jump 
back an’ forth like roosters fightin’. Some- 
times they would lunge so fer forward I was 
’most ’fraid they would rip their clothes. 
They hed long swords, an’ ware a pintin’ 


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101 


um at each other, an’ dodgin’ sideways. 

^^We waited quite a spell, an’ fin’ly Eben- 
ezer said he come up tew help them dew some 
fencin’, an’ if they ware not goin’ tew gin 
him a chance, he ware a goin’ hum. The 
leetle one said ^Can ye reely fence?’ Eben- 
ezer gin the maul a swing, an’ said proud-like, 
^I’ve fenced all my life.’ Then the biggest 
one said : ^ What be ye a goin’ tew dew with 
that big wooden hammer?’ an’ Ebenezer ses, 
^Why, that’s a maul, — that’s fer fencin’.’ 
Then the leetlest one ses he’d like tew know 
how fencin’ could be done with that thing. 
So Ebenezer gin it a swing over his head an’ 
brought it down on the hitchin’ post, an’ driv 
it down ’bout six inches. 

^^The men looked startled at each other, 
then at Ebenezer, an’ the leetle one said ^ he’d 
like to know if that thing druv a post down 
six inches, what he expected it would dew 
tew a man if he got whacked on the head by 
not parrien in time.’ He said ^he ware sure 
his head would be driv down so fur he’d hev 
tew stand t’other side up.’ 

^^Wa’al, then they commenced tew laugh 
all of a suddent, an’ said what they ware a 


102 


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dewin’ they call fencin’. Then they told us 
a joke ware on us, an’ it ware our place tew 
gin ever’body at th’ house a drink of liquor. 
Ebenezer said he wa’n’t no drinkin’ man, but 
I said I hed some canned sweet cider in my 
cellar, an’ if they ware a wantin’ tew carry on 
the joke, tew jest come down, all on em, an’ 
I would open a can. They laughed an’ said 
they would be down, but if we lived in town, 
nothin’ would dew fer us tew set up but 
highballs or roostertails. Now what talk. 
Think of a body a drinkin’ a ball! Land 
sakes! Folks who take pills hev a orful time 
a gittin’ um down ’most alwus; an’ I don’t 
b’lieve they know what a roostertail is, or 
they wouldn’t be a talkin’ ’bout drinkin’ 
um. 

‘^Jest es I said afore, city folks aire well 
meanin’ creeters, but queer in their talkin’. 
But there hain’t no use a gittin’ mad ’bout 
it. 

^^Mis’ McGinn,” continued Betsy, ^^ye be 
a worryin’ tew much ’bout yer boarders. 
Usually when ye come down, I let ye dew th’ 
talkin’, but tew-day, I jest want tew tell ye 
what I think ’bout fussin’ an’ worryin’. I 


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made up my mind twenty year ago not tew 
worry. It donT dew no good. 

'^Before ye come here tew live, a womern 
an^ her man lived over where Mis^ Smithers 
lives now. Her name was Malissa Stebbins. 
She an^ her man fit orful. She wa’nT exactly 
like ye, ’cause she wus alus discouraged an’ 
worryin’ ’bout somethin’, an’ you hain’t, — 
alus. Wa’al, Malissa wus a tewin’ an’ tewin’ 
an’ imaginin’ everythin’ wus out o’ kilter, an’ 
she tewed an’ tewed an’ never got things in 
kilter as I could see. Might be her man bein’ 
so ugly brung on some of her tewin spells, 
’cause he wus dretful. She uster hev tew 
set clear tew t’other end of the table days 
they’d hev fresh meat fer dinner fer fear he’s 
bite her. I remember one evenin’ she come 
down. I wus in the barnyard a milkin’ at 
the time. She was a lookin’ jest orful blue, 
an’ as soon as I caught sight o’ her, I knowed 
that she ware a goin’ tew tew ’bout somethin’. 

^^She set down, on a box, an’ lookin’ at 
me sorry-like, an’ said, 'Betsy, don’t ye hate 
bein’ a old maid, an’ livin all alone with 
nothin’ ahead of ye but the poorhouse?’ 
Wa’al, of course I knowed I wus a old maid. 


104 


THE BELL COW 


without her a tellin^ me, an’ I also knowed I 
wa’n’t rich nuther; but I hed good health, 
a cow an’ chickens ahead, an’ that wus a 
leetle somethin’. hain’t quite alone,’ I 
answered. ^Look at old Kate, the mare, a 
standin’ with her head over the bars. She 
comes down ever’ night when I go tew th’ 
yard tew milk, jest zif she wus a vis’ tin’, — an’ 
old Kate is alus a good one tew come vistin’ 
’cause she is orful close mouthed. She don’t 
talk ’bout the neighbors, an’ when she goes, 
ye feel ye hain’t said nothin’ she is a goin’ tew 
carry away an’ make trouble. Then there 
is old Tom, the cat, a rubbin’ an’ a purrin’, 
’spectin’ his dish of milk. 

“^Wa’al,’ says I tew Malissa. ^We aire 
sort of contented down here, mebby without 
much reason in some folks’ eyes, but jest the 
same, we hain’t plannin’ on the poorhouse, 
’cause I notice folks gen’ly gits ’bout what 
they plan on if they plan long an’ hard 
enough. So what’s the use o’ tewin’ an’ 
tewin’ ’bout the futer?’ 

^^Then arter Ebenezer Cronk’s wife hed 
ben dead a spell, Malissa got tew worryin’ 
’bout us. One day she says tew me, ^ I beam 


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105 


ye an^ Ebenezer is a gittin^ tew actin^ kinda 
foolish at each other. Now, Betsy, donT 
dew it. Jest look at me, an^ the result of tew 
much marry in\’ (Stebbins wus her third 
man.) H canT understand why Tis,’ says 
she, ^if ye set hot swill down where pigs be, 
an^ one goes up an^ sticks in its snoot an^ goes 
away on a jump a squeelin^, it seems tew call 
the Mention of all the rest of pigs tew the 
swill, an^ they all try it, an^ sometimes the 
last one gits burnt the wust. Now, Betsy,^ 
says she, ^donT dew it!’ 

That wus strong argument, fer sure as the 
world Malissa was a squeelin’, an’ I hed tew 
hear it ’most ever day, an’ that wus the wust 
on ’t. No, I jest don’t worry, an’ I am a 
feelin’ younger an’ happier ever’ day. Look 
at th’ way Salvation wus when she fust come 
out here, — all sick an’ peeked, all ’cause she 
wus a worry in’, — an’ now, listen. Mis’ Mc- 
Ginn. That’s her now a singin’ her Salvation 
Army songs in the garden. She didn’t sing 
fer weeks when she fust come, but now jest 
listen, — how pritty it sounds. 

^^Oh, how happy it makes a body,” said 
Miss Betsy, more to herself than to Mrs. 


106 


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McGinn, “tew hev happy childem a singin^ 
’round. And, Willie — bless the boy! He 
goes through the fields a whistlin’ like a bob’- 
link. Don’t ye think, Mrs. McGinn, a good- 
’eal of happiness is a cornin’ my way? Then 
I’m a thinkin’ some of havin’ a weddin’. 
Don’t s’ pose ye hev hearn of that?” 

“A weddin’!” gasped Mrs. McGinn, “Be ye 
raly goin’ t’ take Ebenezer at last?” 

“That’s what I’m a thinkin’ of dewin’,” 
she replied. “Course I know Ebenezer’s a 
leetle old, an’ hes only one eye, but he seems 
tew see all my good p’ints with that one, an’ 
I’m a thinkin’ mebby arter berry pickin’. I’ll 
foreclose the mortgage I’ve hed on his heart 
so long.” 

“Shure!” exclaimed Mrs. McGinn, “Oi’ll 
bake ye a cake es big es a biler.” 

Mrs. McGinn trudged back home. The 
wind had abated, and so had the storm 
within; consequently, her feathers were laid 
very smoothly. The little red squirrel that 
had scampered along the rails ahead of her as 
she came to Betsy Hassway’s, now jumped 
from a tree, as she came through the gate, 
and, with tail and back up, hustled back 


THE BELL COW 


107 


along the rail fence. This time, Mrs. McGinn 
espied him; with a broad smile, she called, 
^^Oh, ye leetle tormint! How Oi wish Oi 
hed ye tew fade tew me dear, good borthers.’^ 


CHAPTER X. 


The Wild Man. 

Great excitement prevailed in Stoneum 
and vicinity. The women scurried to each 
other^s houses to compare notes and get the 
latest news. Eyes bulged and mouths opened, 
as blood-curdling stories were told from door 
to door. The children scampered home long 
before dark, and begged to be put to bed, — a 
most unusual occurrence. Their prayers were 
longer than usual, and they said them with 
chattering teeth before jumping into bed; then 
they would pull the clothes over their heads, 
and lie very still, hardly daring to breathe. 
The old men congregated at the corner store, 
and talked over the affair, trying to decide 
on a way to handle the weighty matter and 
rid the little village of the cloud that seemed 
to be hovering over, ready to burst with such 
awful fury. 

Betsy Hassway seemed to be the only per- 
son on the outskirts of the village who was 


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109 


not behind barred doors, with a shot-gun 
down from its hangings, ready for battle. 
For two days, not a woman or child had passed 
her house. She thought nothing of this, 
however, as the village was small and the 
neighbors scattered. She had gone about 
her duties as usual, not knowing that Mrs. 
Smithers, behind her closed shutters across 
the field, was watching her, wringing her 
hands, fearing an awful tragedy would take 
place before her very eyes, by Betsy^s 
boldness in going about in such a fearless 
manner. 

hainT visTed Betsy in a long time, 
^ count of her orful idears ^bout religion, but 
sinful as she is ^bout takin^ in stray childern 
an sich, Fd go an^ tell her tew keep in th^ 
house or she^ll be butchered, if I only dared 
tew git out,’^ said Mrs. Smithers, between her 
chattering teeth. 

On this particular morning, Betsy Hassway 
was out feeding her chickens, calling them in 
a high, nasal key, '' Chick ! Chick ! Chick-eh ! '' 
as only a country-bred woman can call. She 
wandered to the road, calling the chicks that 
had strayed farthest away, when suddenly 


no 


THE BELL COW 


her attention was called to a woman fairly 
flying down the road, looking from right to 
left with an agonized expression on her white 
face. 

Betsy Hassway saw at once that something 
unusual must be the matter, and hurried 
forward with the query of ^^What on airth 
be a ailin^ ye. Patience? for the woman 
proved to be Patience Scoville, who lived 
half a mile down the valley. 

Oh, Miss Hassway exclaimed the breath- 
less girl, ^nVe hed sich a orful time, sich a 
orful, orful time! Ye know when it com- 
menced tew git dark last night, I went tew 
lock th^ dure, an’ found there wa’n’t no lock, 
an’ it got darker’n darker, an’ pa an’ ma 
didn’t come hum. They went tew Ginny- 
town yistidy, an’ said they might stay, but 
that ware ’fore I hed hearn th’ orful news.” 

^^What on airth be ye a talkin’ ’bout. 
Patience? What news?” asked Miss Betsy, 
becoming very much interested. 

^^Why, hain’t ye hearn?” asked the girl 
in astonishment. 

^'No, I hain’t hearn nothin,” answered 
Miss Betsy. 


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111 


^^Oh, dear! Oh, dear I said the girl, 
beginning to cry. ^^HainT ye hearn there^s 
a wild man a moochin^ ^round?’^ 

wild man!^^ exclaimed Miss Betsy, 
looking hurriedly over her shoulder. 

^^Yis,’’ continued the girl, ^^a orful big, 
dirty, ugly, fierce wild man. Some says he 
hes eyes jest like tew big balls o^ fire, an^ 
some says they be green. Boo! Hoo! I 
ware all alone a waitin’ fer pa’n ma ter come, 
an’ no lock, nor nothin’! Boo! Hoo! I 
wouldn’t a dast tew come out of the house 
this mornin’ only I didn’t dast tew stay. 
Now, I’m a goin’ up tew Stoneum arter a 
padlock, an’ oh, dear, when I come tew think 
on’t, I won’t dast tew go back inter the house. 
Boo ! Hoo ! Hoo ! An he’s a moochin’ ’round 
the neighborhood. Si Perkins, th’ constable, 
is arter him. I hearn orful noises all night 
long, an’ I wus alone an’ waitin’ fer pa’n ma. 
Oh, Miss Hassway, its orful! They hain’t 
ben nothin’ so excitin’ in the neighborhood 
sence Ezra Hawkinses prize calf choked tew 
death on a tater jest at fair time, an’ what 
wus that ter this. Boo! Hoo!” 

Miss Betsy was noticeably alarmed, but. 


112 


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after swallowing several times, she remarked: 
^^Wa^al, I hainT gunto bar my dures or talk 
scar-talk yit. ^Course a wild man is a orful 
thing, an^ the like o’ sich hain’t happened in 
these parts in many a year, but I b’lieve ye 
kin keep trouble an’ scare away if ye jest 
don’t think scare thoughts, an’ I jest hain’t 
a gunto git scart yit.” 

The big Shanghai rooster, waiting patiently 
for breakfast, was standing just behind the 
two women, with his head cocked to one side, 
eying Miss Betsy’s pan of corn. Just as 
Miss Betsy completed her lecture on not be-^ 
coming frightened, he broke forth with a 
great, hoarse, Cock-a-doodle — do-o-o-o!” 

^^Oh, Lord,” screamed the girl, throwing 
her hands over her head, and starting on a 
run down the road; while Miss Betsy, drop- 
ping her pan of corn, caught up her skirts and 
started sprinting in the other direction. 

Mercy sakes!” she exclaimed, coming 
back to the gate. How a rooster a crowin’ 
suddent will startle a body!” 

Down the road from Stoneum, pell-mell, 
came a crowd of excited women, all talking 
at once. As they drew near enough to see 


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113 


Miss Betsy and Patience at the gate, Mrs. 
Grimes exclaimed: 

^^Oh, Betsy Hassway, are ye still alive? 
Its all over Stoneum that ye hed a fight with 
th’ wild man last night. Some hearn screams 
a cornin’ from this way.” 

“Oh, let’s all go in tew the house. Boo! 
Hoo! I’m ’fraid out here,” wailed Patience 
Scoville, and in they all scampered. 

“When they told Constable Perkins,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Grimes, “that ever’body knew 
the wild man wus down here, he tuck sick — 
coward-like. He’d ben a flourishin’ a re- 
volver, an’ a sayin, ^Show ’im tew me! Show 
’im tew me! I’ll fix him!’ but soon’s we got 
the wild man located, he tuck sick, an’ said 
he felt jest zif the summer complaint wus a 
cornin’ on. Now, I am a proposin’ tew hev 
a womern constable next year, right here 
in this township. Wimmen ain’t cowards, 
an’ if all you wimmen will stand by me, 
I’ll run fer a constable. They hev um out 
West, an’ if I dew say it myself, I ain’t no 
coward.” 

Suddenly there was a great commotion 
among the hens in the back yard. Two flew 


114 


THE BELL COW 


into the woodshed, and the rest of the flock 
ran cackling into the berry bushes. The 
half dozen women who had all been talking 
at once in a high key suddenly stopped, with 
white faces and wide-open mouths, chopping 
off half-spoken words, and staring at each 
other. Mrs. Grimes, the would-be constable, 
sneaked behind Betsy Hassway, and stood 
trembling from head to foot. 

The awful silence was soon broken by 
Patience Scoville, who bellowed, ^^Oh, dear, 
dear! Boo! Hoo! Why did I come here? 
Pm more scart than I wus tew hum.^^ 

^^Shet up. Patience! DonT let him know 
yeTe Traid,^^ whispered one of the women. 

^^Wa’al, I hainT Traid,’’ said Betsy Hass- 
way, ’cause there hain’t nothin’ tew be 
afraid on,” and she arose and tottered toward 
the door. There, I told ye so!” she said 
with a shiver. There’s a leetle chicken- 
hawk a settin’ on the clothes-line, an’ he 
hain’t got eyes of fire, an’ they ain’t green, 
nuther. An’ what’s more, I don’t b’lieve the 
wild man hes green eyes, nor I don’t b’lieve 
there be no wild man.” However, Betsy 
stopped to see that the screen door was 


THE BELL COW 


115 


securely hooked before returning to her seat. 

^^Shet the woodshed dure tew, please,'^ 
wailed Patience. 

^^Ye don^t believe there be no wild man! 
Wa^al, I guess my girl Dersy hain^t crazy, 
spoke up Mrs. Cotton. ^^She seen him last 
night when she wus arter the cows. He wus 
in a leetle open place in the poster-field a 
eatin^ some raw meat, an^ he growled when 
he seen her, an^ she run hum, an^ then we saw 
him a runnin^ through the field, an^ if he wa^nT 
a wild man, he would be in the road, an^ not 
a runnin’ through fields and posters, a growlin' 
an' a snarlin'." 

“Land sakes! Dew ye mean it?" said 
Miss Betsy. 

Suddenly there was a bang on the wood- 
shed door, a stamping through the chips, and 
the sound of a bark or snarl that might have 
been made by a person or a dog. The women 
crowded to the front door in terror. Again 
the awful snarl and bark, and out they all 
rushed, pell-mell, down the path and on to- 
ward Stoneum, as fast as they could scamper. 
In her excitement. Patience fell in the dust, 
and wailed again: 


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^^Boo! Hoo! Oh, wait for me somebody, 
please! Oh, please do!'^ 

Betsy Hassway stood her ground. She 
was very white, but sat quietly in her chair, 
murmuring to herself, hainT Traid, ’cause 
there hain’t no wild man. Lm sure there 
hain’t no wild man.” She put her hand to 
her brow, and it trembled as she held it there, 
but she murmured again, hain’t ’fraid, 
’cause there hain’t nothin’, — nothin’ tew be 
’fraid on.” 

The tramping footsteps sounded again, 
and Willie Wooster came running into the 
room from the woodshed. 

^H’ve got three nice, big kisses for you. 
Aunt Betsy, and here they are!” he exclaimed, 
throwing his arms around her neck. 

^^Oh, Willie!” she cried, ^^How ye would 
startle a body, if a body ware at all ’fraid. 
What on airth wus ye a snarlin’ like a dog 
fer?” 

^^Oh,” answered the child, was playin’ 
I was a bear. I’ve been all over the neigh- 
borhood yesterday and today, playin’ dog 
an’ l^ear. I had on the old green goggles an’ 
Uncle Eb’s old coat.” 


THE BELL COW 


117 


“Why, Willie, yeVe ben a scarin^ folks 
nigh tew death 

“Oh, no, I ainT, Aunt Betsy, for IVe 
been playin^ all alone in the fields/^ 

“Willie, Willie she exclaimed, taking 
him in her arms. “What be I a goin^ tew 
dew with ye?” and she broke into a hearty 
laugh. 

“I dunno,” answered the boy, also laugh- 
ing, although not knowing just what at. 

“Wa^al, one thing is sartinV^ she said, “if 
I donT know what tew dew with ye, I sartinly 
wouldnT know what tew dew without ye.” 


CHAPTER XL 


Loneliness. 

Pauline had taken her place at the head 
of the Hover household. Benjamin Hover, 
lame and old, and a mammoth yellow cat 
were the only other occupants of the little 
rose-covered cottage, which was situated on 
a slope far up from the road with a winding 
pebble pathway leading among flowering 
shrubs to the old-fashioned porch. At the 
rear of the cottage was a rose arbor where she 
sat and dreamed of Herbert. 

At flrst beautiful thoughts would always 
come. She would close her eyes and picture 
him coming up the path, his face all anima- 
tion at seeing her. wonder what he will 
say,'^ she mused, ^^and what will I say?’^ 
Then the pink would rush to her cheek at 
the memory of his big, strong arms about her, 
and she would seem to hear the low, gentle 
voice, like the soft, deep tones of an organ. 

But the days passed and he did not come. 


THE BELL COW 


119 


At first, she was happy in the memory of his 
love, thinking the next day would surely 
bring him; but the days drifted into weeks, 
and still he did not come, and, — far worse, — 
not one message was received from him. 
Then came the days when she went to the 
arbor to weep. Betsy Hassway came to the 
cottage often with encouraging words, but 
as time passed on and no word came, despair 
gripped at Pauline’s young heart, and the 
pink gradually faded from her pretty cheeks. 

At first the community took Aunt Betsy’s 
explanations as facts, but when it was known 
that Mr. and Mrs. Hutton never visited their 
daughter, unkind remarks gradually reached 
the girl’s ears, isolated though she was, and 
the poor little thing finally wished for only 
one thing, — death. She had long ago made 
up her mind that some calamity had befallen 
Herbert. Her faith in him never faltered; 
nothing could change that. 

Old Mr. Hover was good and kind, and 
often she would read to him in the rose- 
covered bower; then they would sit far into 
the twilight talking and planning what they 
would do when Herbert came home again. 


120 


THE BELL COW 


She always called the old man Daddy, and 
he soon was calling her daughter. 

One evening they were sitting in the gath- 
ering twilight. It had been a warm day, 
and as darkness settled down a gentle breeze 
came up the valley, waving the lilacs until 
they seemed like living things walking in the 
moonlight. They sat a long time in silence. 
Of late, they were growing in the habit of sit- 
ting for hours without speaking to one another, 
neither one daring to express a thought. 
Pauline sat near the archway, gazing at 
the crescent moon, whose soft rays falling 
on the waving hair, reflected a glint of gold. 
The old man watched the classic profile. 
Her lips seemed to move as she gazed, but 
still she did not speak. 

^^She is lookin^ more and more like an 
angel ever’ day,” he thought, ^^and I know 
she is longing to go. How be I goin’ tew 
spare her; yit, I can’t want her tew stay in 
the world only tew suffer. Poor leetle thing. 
Poor leetle thing.” 

As he gazed at her, she seemed to become 
something unreal, and the old man hurriedly 
brushed his bony hand before his eyes to 


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121 


make sure he were not dreaming. Was it 
Pauline he saw before him? Yes, it was, 
but the upturned face and parted lips were 
not of earth, but heavenly. A sudden awe 
seized him, and he trembled like a leaf, not 
daring to speak to her. 

Then through the stillness of the night 
came the warbling of a bird. It began with 
a low twitter, gradually rising until the valley 
seemed to echo with a flood of song. Pauline 
arose and stretched out her pretty arms to- 
ward the waving branches from whence the 
song started. The old man could see that a 
smile lightened her sad face. Oh, how long 
the time had been since he had seen the pretty 
face in smiles! 

^^Dear little songster of the night,^’ she 
said, “you are calling in your dreams to your 
mate. Oh, how I, too, call, but he never 
hears; but your notes tell me that he will hear 
and will return to me. Do you hear. Daddy, 
Herbert will come back to me. CanT you 
hear the little warbler telling me so?^^ 

“He will come back, daughter dear; he 
will come back,^’ answered the old man. 
The hot tears blinded him, and he could no 


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longer see her. Suddenly the singing stopped. 

^^Ah, you have given up hope, and so 
must 1.’^ She came and sat on a little stool 
at the old man^s feet, and rested her head 
upon his knee. Daddy, I want to tell you 
something tonight.’^ 

^^Yis, Daughter,’^ he answered, brushing 
back the waving hair with his trembling old 
hand. ^‘Yis, Daughter, I am listenin’.^’ 

^^It has been a long time since Herbert 
went away. I have trusted him all along, — 
thank God for that — but he does not return 
to me and now I cannot endure it any longer. 
I want to die.” 

^^My child, my child,” said the old man, 
^'If I could say one comfortin’ word tew ye; 
but I jest hain’t nothin’ tew say. Nothin’ 
tew say.” 

Daddy, I did not mind at first what 
people thought or said, but now no one speaks 
to us but dear Aunt Betsy and good old 
Uncle Eb, and I sometimes think they, too, 
think we are all bad, and are kind only be- 
cause they pity us. I think mother would 
come if father were willing; but that may be 
not it, she may also believe me wholly bad. 


THE BELL COW 


123 


They all say we were never married; that 
Herbert fooled me and has left me in my 
shame. We both know how unjust they are, 
daddy, but I have no proof that what they 
say is false. I pray every night that the dear 
Lord will take me before my baby comes. 
Oh, daddy, if I only dared go to the river. I 
sometimes think it is my duty to my child to 
do so, but when I think of the black depths, 
the water eddying all around and the ghostly 
shadows in the moonlight, I am afraid. One 
night I lay awake so long, wishing I had 
courage to steal away and sink out of sight, 
where none could point a finger of scorn at 
me again. I thought about it so long that 
finally it seemed courage was coming, and 
then all at once a ghostly form all shrouded 
in black seemed to come up before me and 
pointed a long bony finger at me, calling 
' Murder ! Murder ! ’ Oh, daddy, I am afraid ! 
Afraid!^’ 

She caught the old man^s trembling hands 
and clung to them, shuddering with fear. 

Daddy, I am afraid to live, and afraid to 
die.^^ 

Again the notes of the bird floated through 


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the darkness, and the golden head sank upon 
the old man^s knee. The voice of the bird 
soared higher and higher, then faded away 
in a mournful little twitter. The loneliness 
of the night became oppressive, for the only 
sound was the gentle sobbing of the heart- 
broken girl in the rose arbor. 


CHAPTER XII. 


The Warm Sugar Social and a Call From 
Mrs. Smithers. 


Deer Kid — 

Wer goin to have a soshuble at our house 
for Rev Heller. He preaches up in the 
school house. Me and Salvation goes to 
Sunday school but we dont have to go to 
church cause we can hear him clear down to 
our house, its goin to be a warm sugar 
soshual. Ant Betsy ses they dont usully 
have them in the summer time but last spring 
when she was goin to have one a axident hap- 
pened. Ant Betsy had tapped all the trees 
round the house and had lots of sap redy 
to boil and so she went all round the nabor- 
hood askin all the folks to come. 

Salvation thot the sap was wash-water 
and when Ant Betsy got back she found the 
close boilin in the sap — they had boiled so 
long it was a sweet mess. Then Ant Betsy 
had to go rite round an tell ever body it was 


126 


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a false alarm and there wood be no soshabul. 
But now she is sure goin to have it. she has 
a lot of little cakes of sugar up in the pantry 
all reddy to cook up and its orful hard not 
to steal one. I just go in ever day and lick 
one and put it back — that aint stealin 

Last nite the preacher and some of the 
folks were down to plan bout the sochibl and 
they got to talkin bout Mrs. McGinns borders 
as a new guy has come with a lot of horses 
and bull dogs. Ant Betsy is offul carful 
what she says and wen I was a talking bout 
the bull dogs she sed it wood sound prittier 
if a little boy like me would say doggy instead 
of what I said. So last nite they was talking 
bout the man an Ant Betsy wasnt goin to 
say bull but got rattld tryin not to and so she 
says — I have herd Mrs. McGinns noo border 
has brot thre doggies and six bull bosses. I 
wasnt goin to laff but Pashunse Scovil is a 
] kinda numskul and she snikered And then 
the preecher laffed — and everbody can laff 
if the preecher did so I laffed sum. 

I wish you was here to go to school with 
me and Salvation. Our teecher is Mis Parker 
shes a brick. One day we had to find a 


THE BELL COW 


127 


kotashun some big man had sed and I told 
teacher I wood not have to hunt up one 
cause last summer wen I was out with some 
freshes — you remember when we stade too 
weaks with the nice ol widder woman that 
lived near the Rockyfelos plas in the kuntry 
— so I told her the things he says and puts 
up for little freshes to lern 

These are Private Grounds. Keep Out. 

Ant Betsy says boy cows somtimes chas 
folks that wear red, and my new shirt is red, 
and a man ties a cow to a post in the field I 
go thru and I thot I wood ask him if his cow 
was a boy or a girl. But he is so cross lookin 
a man I am afrad to, but if tis Ide ruther go 
round the road. Hopin you are the same. 

Willie Wooster. 

* * * * * 
Looks SO lowery, I dunno ’bout washin’ 
tew-day,” remarked Betsy Hassway to Sal- 
vation, as they busily wiped the breakfast 
dishes, a few mornings after the social. 
hed thought we’d pitch in, an’ hev Willie 
turn th’ wringer, an’ hev the clothes on the 
line by noon. Nabkins an’ tableclothes all 


128 


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dirty ever sence the sociable. It made a 
sight work, but jest think, we tuck in fif- 
teen dollars. 

^^An^ now,^^ she continued, a goin’ 

tew tell ye somethin^ ye don^t know. Miss 
DeForest an^ Mr. John Gray gin me five 
dollars apiece, an^ that^s how it wus so much. 
Guess we wouldn’t a made much if Mis’ 
McGinn’s boarders hedn’t come down. But 
that wus ’cause they all like Willie. I wus 
orful glad tew send the preacher the money, 
’cause his fambly looks tew me zif they wa’n’t 
over-feedin’, an’ I’m so pesky sick of that 
dress his wife hes tew wear, — ye know the 
one with the gourd figure in it. An’ tew see 
her an’ the tew leetle girls all th’ time th’ 
last three year with them brown dresses on 
with gourds an’ vines all over um, makes me 
wish I could rig um up all fust-class fer once. 
Course I can’t b’lieve as he does, but he’s 
a good man, an’ his wife is es likely a leetle 
creeter as I ever see.” 

The horseshoes hanging on the rope from 
the gate to the fence gave a rattle, and Miss 
Betsy and Salvation stopped their dish- 
washing to look out and see who was coming. 


THE BELL COW 


129 


^^Land sakes!’^ exclaimed Miss Betsy, ^^The 
storm has arriv!’^ 

Coming up the walk was a middle-aged 
woman, dressed in plain black. With her 
hands clasped tightly in front of her, she held 
a small handbag that flapped from side to 
side as she stalked along in a defiant manner. 
On her head was a little black bonnet without 
any trimming. As she came to the door. 
Miss Hassway hastened to wipe her hands, 
and offered one to her visitor as she entered. 
She may not have noticed it, but at any rate 
she did not take Miss Betsy^s hand, but strode 
in as if ready for battle. 

^^Will ye be seated. Mis’ Smithers?” said 
Betsy, motioning her to a chair. The visitor 
sat down much as a wooden doll might, only 
her joints did not squeak in the operation. 
There was a short pause, and Miss Hassway 
remarked : Its a lookin’ like a orful storm, 

— er — ^well, I am a meanin’, outside it looks 
like rain.” 

Betsy Hassway,” broke in the woman, 
^^I’ve come once more tew try an’ save yer 
soul. I come a year ago, an’ then made up 
my mind ye hed fooled away yer day of 


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THE BELL COW 


grace, an^ wus lost; but when the wild man 
wus ’round, I was a watchin’ ye from acrost 
th’ field an’ a thinkin’ how unperpared ye 
be, in case he hed a killed ye, an’ I jest made 
up my mind I would come over oncet more 
tew see if I couldn’t save yer soul.” 

^^Wa’al,” said Miss Betsy in a kindly tone, 
^'I’m a listenin’, Mis’ Smithers.” 

^‘Last night wus prayermeetin’ night,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Smithers, ^^an’ I hearn all about 
yer sociable, an’ they said ye riz fifteen dol- 
lars, an’ I got right up an’ says: ^No sich lot 
o’ money wus riz by this neighborhood at 
ten cents apiece, an’ I fear that money from 
a worldly pusson like ye, who hes never made 
a perfession in the meetin’, is tainted money, 
an’ I set my foot down agin’ them a takin’ 
it.” 

^^Wa’al,” said Miss Betsy, “ye’re a leetle 
late, as a load of groceries hes went tew the 
preacher’s house yistdy, an’ his wife stopped 
in tew show Salvation an’ me her new lawn 
dress, an’ she’s a cornin’ over here tew- 
morrer, an’ we’re all a goin’ tew work on it 
tewgether. It’s goin tew hev ruffles around,” 
added Miss Hassway, in an afterthought. 


THE BELL COW 


131 


Ruffles around!’^ repeated Mrs. Smithers 
in a horrified tone. '^What be ye a tryin' 
tew dew — make the preacher^s wife proud 
and vain? What be ye a thinkin’ on, Betsy 
Hassway? This, an^ a gittin^ yer house full 
of strange childern nobody knows who they 
be. They may be children of shame fer all 
ye know.” 

^^Mis^ Smithers, ye mad me, an^ that's a 
thing I don't often git, a cornin' an' talkin' 
tew me like that, an' a pertendin' yer a 
follerin' the blessed Jesus. Shame on ye! 
Salvation hes gone tew the garden, an' Willie 
is in the fields with Ebenezer Cronk; but I'm 
'fraid if airy of them tew childern hed hearn 
ye, ye'd hev tew leave my house not tew 
come here no more. What ye want tew say 
about me. I'll hear, but nothin' agin my chil- 
dern, who hev come tew me an' brung me 
sunshine an' love. They come from God. 
Where else could they a come from? We all 
come from God, an' we'll all find Him agin 
sometime, but we can't all dew it in the same 
way.'' 

Yis, Betsy Hassway, ye may say they hev 
come an' fetched ye love. Same way my 


132 


THE BELL COW 


youngun talked tew me oncet when he fetcht 
hum tew leetle skunks. They wus cute 
lookin’ an’ clever ’nough when they wus 
leetle, an’ he fed um an’ petted um, an’ fin’ly 
they growd up an’ then I tell ye ’twas differ- 
enter, an’ ye never knowd jest what they wus 
goin’ tew dew or where they was a goin’ tew 
dew it. Ye hain’t no religion, Betsy Hass- 
way. Ye don’t go tew church only a few 
times a year. Ye never come tew prayer- 
meetin’, an’ I hev hearn ye never pray nor 
thank the Lord fer bein’ a miserable sinner.” 

'^No, I don’t go to church alwus,” answered 
Miss Betsy, ’cause when I dew go an’ hear 
ye all a talkin’ all that scare-talk ’bout how 
there’s a orful pit a bumin’ an’ a bilin’ all 
ready fer us, an’ a gittin hotter ever’ minit, 
an’ when ye all git tew yellin’ ye make me 
a’most tew think the pit hes biled over, an’ 
I want tew ketch up my skirts an’ run. Jest 
think on ’t. Mis’ Smithers! The good Lord 
a plannin’ sich stuff fer the childem he hes 
made an’ put here. But, as fer my not 
b’lieven in religion, I don’t see how anyone 
kin live in this beautiful world an’ not be 
sure there is a God. 


THE BELL COW 


133 


sometimes go tew my garden in the 
mornin^ jest as th^ sun is a comin^ up, th’ 
birds are a singin^ their mornin’ songs, an’ 
all is bright an’ glorious, an’ I stretch out my 
hands tew the flowers an’ say, 'Ye dear, 
sweet messengers from God, ye’ve come tew 
bring me happiness an’ a message from Him, 
an’ I hope ye find me a dewin’ of my work 
well an’ cheerful’; then I say tew the woods, 
'Tell my Creator that I’m content an’ happy, 
livin’ here with ye, with beauty overhead an’ 
beauty underfoot.’ 

"Oh, Mis’ Smithers, I dew pray tew God 
all day long tew make me more like Him, an’ 
I thank Him as I go tew bed fer a sendin’ me 
peace an’ happiness. An’ ye come tew me 
with sich mad talk ’cause I don’t b’lieve jest 
as ye dew. Mis’ Smithers, I don’t b’lieve 
anyone wus ever whipped intew bein’ good. 
I think that makes devils of folks, an’ I hain’t 
no idear that God is a goin’ tew set down an’ 
watch the childem that he hes made bum 
fer ages, jest tew satisfy hisself, jest because 
they made mistakes. Lm a thinkin’ the 
world is about as He intends it tew be, ’cause 
He’s all powerful, an’ if t’wa’n’t, he’d change 


134 


THE BELL COW 


it. He^s put us here tew dew the best we 
kin, fer some good reason, — we^ll know why 
sometime — an’ so, what’s the use of sendin’ 
each other tew hell jest ’cause we don’t all 
b’lieve alike, when He don’t show any par- 
tiality, but is good an’ lovin’ tew us all?” 

Mrs. Smithers arose very much as a jack- 
knife opens; her lips fairly clicked as she 
spoke. 

come here tew save yer soul, Betsy 
Hassway, an’ ye insult me with yer talk, a 
braggin’ ’bout yer flowers ’cause ye hev better 
luck with um that th’ neighbors; an’ a darin’ 
tew say the Lord is a savin’ folks who is of 
the world, an’ a sendin’ sich tew heaven. I 
hearn how ye’ve ben a goin’ tew that womern 
who is up on the sidehill in a tent a dyin’ of 
consumption, a takin’ her flowers, an’ a 
tellin’ her how the Lord’s a helpin’ her, when 
ye knowed well ’nough she hain’t no member 
of the church, an’ is damned. I’ve jest ben 
tew see her, an’ when I went she was a smilin’, 
tellin’ me how ye hed ben a tellin’ her how she 
wus better an’ wus a gittin’ well. I thought I 
might snatch a bran’ from th’ burnin’, an’ I 
jest said tew her: ^ Don’t ye know Betsy 


THE BELL COW 


135 


Hassway is a lyin^ tew ye. Yer a goin^ tew 
die, an^ if ye don^t repent, yer a goin^ tew 
hell.^ 

^‘Oh, Mis^ Smithers! Did ye dew that 
wicked thing? Jest yistdy the poor thing 
seemed so much better, an’ I was a tryin’ so 
hard tew help her.” 

“Yis, I did. An’ I read tew her from my 
Bible how the wicked are cast intew a lake of 
everlasting fire. I’d like tew know, Betsy 
Hassway, how yer a goin’ tew git ’round the 
Bible. I’d like tew know that.” 

^^Oh, ye don’t understand th’ Bible, Mis’ 
Smithers. Ye b’lieve in a God of hate, while 
I b’lieve in a God of love, so things read dif- 
ferent tew us. But, don’t let’s arger any 
more. I’m a thinkin’ of the poor sick thing 
out on the hill.” 

'^Wa’al, I’ll be goin’, but I’ll not forsake 
ye, Betsy Hassway. When ye send fer me. 
I’ll come an’ pray with ye, but not until ye 
hev a change of heart.” 

The screen door closed after Mrs. Smithers 
with a bang, and a crunch, crunch was heard 
on the gravel path; then another bang, and 
a rattle of the horseshoes on the gate-string. 


136 


THE BELL COW 


Salvation came in the back door with a large 
bouquet of flowers. 

Seems to me/^ she said, ^Hhey be prettier 
than ever. They make me think of little 
folks sometimes, a lookin^ up from their beds 
with their little glad faces.’’ 

^^Yis,” said Miss Betsy dreamily. ^^They 
be leetle folks. They be my leetle messengers.” 

^^Aunt Betsy, did yer notice th’ sun be 
a cornin’ out, and we kin git th’ washin’ a 
goin’?’ 

Yis,” answered Miss Betsy, glancing down 
the road in the direction Mrs. Smithers had 
gone, realize th’ storm hes passed. Sal- 
vation, I’ve changed my mind ’bout the 
washin’. I want tew take these pritty poses 
ye’ve jest picked out tew the leetle tent on 
the hillside.” 

^^Why, Aunt Betsy, you be a cryin’!” ex- 
claimed Salvation in astonishment, as a hot 
teardrop fell on the hand holding out the 
flowers for Miss Betsy to take. ^^What is 
the matter, dear Aunt Betsy? You never 
have cried before since I have been here, and 
it makes me ’most cry too.” 

I wus jest a thinkin’ of th’ poor sick thing 


THE BELL COW 


137 


out on the hillside medder in th’ leetle tent/^ 
she answered. 

^^1^11 bet Twas that old hen that has jest 
ben here that made yer cry!^’ exclaimed 
Salvation, firing up. 

^^Hush, child. She means well, only she 
bfiieves in hate, an^ we bfiieve in love, — don’t 
we. Salvation?” she said, brushing away the 
tears and smiling. 

“Yis, we do,” answered the child, ’cause 
we both have got it.” 

won’t be cornin’ back ’till noon,” said 
Aunt Betsy, starting down the walk with an 
armful of flowers. If ye git th’ taters goin’ 
airly. Salvation, ye might be a makin’ a 
minit-puddin’.” 


CHAPTER XIIL 


Mrs. McGinnis Disgrace. 

^^Oh, Betsy Hassway, ba ye raly come 
vis Tin’ exclaimed Mrs. McGinn, waddling 
to the door to usher in her visitor. ^^Sure, 
ye ain’t ben a schtep t’ sa’ me sence more nor 
a wake ago.” 

come tew bring ye a lee tie glass of jell,” 
said Miss Betsy. I was a makin’ it yistdy, 
an’ I thought ye might like a taste on it.” 

“It’s a angel ye aire, Betsy, a never for- 
gittin’ of me whin ye aire a puttin’ up yer 
canned stuff. I wus a cornin’ down t’ see ye 
lasth noight, but me house is full of a lot o’ 
new borthers, so that wus a kapin’ me home. 
I now have tin borthers an’ a fraction over.” 

“A fraction over?” repeated Betsy Hass- 
way. 

“Yis,” answered Mrs. McGinn with a gust 
of laughter, “ th’ ilivinth borther has a wooden 
laig.” 

“Ye don’t say!” exclaimed Miss Betsy, 


THE BELL COW 


139 


F ve ben a wantin’ tew ask ye, Mis’ McGinn, 
what on airth ye hev got a boardin’ at yer 
house now. I mean the womern that goes 
way out in the medder an’ hists a white um- 
breller an’ sets there nigh all day actin’ crazy 
like.” 

“Oh,” answered Mrs. McGinn. “She is 
itchin’. She itches all day long.” 

“Land sakes! Can’t she scratch her itches 
as a body should, an’ come hum an’ take 
sulphur an’ ’lasses?” 

“Sure,” said Mrs. McGinn, “what she calls 
a itchin’ is differenter. She hes a paper an’ 
pencil with a sharp p’int, an’ she is a drawin’ 
of th’ finces an’ th’ medder, an th’ hills. She 
calls thot itchin’. Sure, for th’ koind o’ 
itchin’ she hes, lasses an’ sulphur won’t do no 
good, an’ a pity it is thot they won’t, for who 
wants a picture of thot old fince thot won’t 
half kape Smithers’s cow out o’ our lot?” 

“I want tew know,” remarked Miss Betsy. 

“Oi’ve ben a havin’ throubles wid me 
borthers sence I see ye lasth, Betsy,” con- 
tinued Mrs. McGinn, settling herself on the 
lounge and resuming her usual conversational 
trend. “ Lasth noight Oi thot it wus murther 


140 


THE BELL COW 


Oi wus a havin\ Oi heard a racket on me 
porruch, an^ someun a groanin^ loike, an^ 
me hair comminced pull at me hairpins, 
fur Oi heard a mon say : 

^^^He^s shot!’ 

^^An’ thin me hair wus a standin’ on ind, 
an’ me hearth a batin’ loike a druthm in me 
stomach, an’ it sames as if me loights an’ me 
liver all jumped up in me neck, an’ wus all a 
foightin’ t’ git out th’ same toime. Oi hed 
a dipther o’ hot wather in me hand at th’ 
toime, an’ Oi schtopped in th’ middle of th’ 
flure t’ listhen, whin Oi heard th’ noise, an’ 
th’ dipther got soidways an’ schpillt hot 
wather on me foot, an’ Oi jumped t’ wan 
soide an’ schtept on th’ cat an’ it wint yawlin’ 
an’ creathin’ more ructions. Foin’ly Oi got 
t’ me dure an’ Oi seen thim carryin’ one of me 
borthers up me schtairs, an’ Oi schreamed: 

^^^Murther! Murther! Who shot ’im?’ 

^^An’ Misther Riley Rivers schtood thor 
a laughin’. 

^^Oi said in me excoitmint, ^Ye bloodthy 
baste, a laughin’ whin a mon is shot!’ 

^^He said, ^Mrs. McGinn, calm yerself; he 
is only half shot.’ 


THE BELL COW 


141 


shot, indade!’ says Oi. ^ He’ll be 
a bladin’ on me clane flure, an’ he may kick 
whin he doies an’ busth me bed!’ 

^^Then Misther Riley Rivers laughed the 
more, an’ me Oirish wus a cornin’ up an’ he 
see it cornin’ ’cause he come up an’ said to me, 
quiet loike, ^He’s only jagged a little.’ 

^^Thin Oi burst me into tears, for it all to 
oncet samed loike tha good ould toimes be- 
fore me Pat parted, an’ whin he wus a cornin’ 
home ownin’ a brewery, an’ an illigant batin’ 
Oi gave ’im minny a toime tha loike o’ this! 

^^Thin, me new-morried couple thot jest 
come ba a foindin’ fault— tha say thor name 
is Schnell, but Oi call thim Schnivel, per- 
tendin’ not t’ underschtand. Lasth noight 
Misses Schnivel said: ^This marnin’ a rat 
big as a cat was a runnin’ off wid me shoe.’ 
An’ she said Mister Schnivel schlippt on his 
shoe an’ gave it a kick an’ it turned ’round 
an’ showed its teeth. A big lior is she. Tha 
can’t fool ma. Oi’ve sane thase schwells be- 
fore, an’ Oi foind if ye look back into thor 
poster’ty, ye’ll foind baboons an’ chipanzees 
not many gin’rations back; am Oi not roight, 
Betsy Hassway?” 


142 


THE BELL COW 


reason pretty well, Mis’ McGinn.” 

^‘Thin tha batin’ she gives me pianner iv’ry 
mamin’, an’ her mon is a tellin’ me she’s a 
studin’ fer oppry. He said she wus a muzzled 
sopranner, but if ye could hear tha crather 
a yellin’, an’ thin fer her t’ come a tellin’ me 
ther’s a rat in me house! Shure, if thor wus 
wan here, he wint thot same day she moved 
in wid her voice! Throy t’ make me b’lieve 
th’ loike o’ thot? Not much! Do Oi look 
crazy, Betsy Hassway? Do Oi look loike it? ” 
ain’t nary noticed it, Mis’ McGinn, if ye 

dew.” 

^'This marnin’ when Oi got me bread a 
bakin’ Oi wint out on me porruch t’ set me 
down for resthin’. She wus in th’ parlor, an’ 
Misther Schnivel was on me porruch. He is a 
talkin’ t’ me ’bout her all th’ toime, an’ sick 
of it Oi’m a gettin’. She begun t’ sing, an’ 
would bate a kay on tha pianner, an’ thin 
she would say: 

'^^Oi hit it!’ 

^'Thin she would yell, ^Oh!’ louder an’ 
higher up, an’ agin she would bate me pianner 
higher up an’ say, ^Oi hit it!’ 

^^Is it ‘bug-house,’ Willie Wooster calls it, 


THE BELL COW 


143 


whin crathers ack crazy-loike? Oi sure think 
she^s it. An^ would ye b^lave, she kept 
roight on up hoigher, yellin’ ^Oh!’ until it 
samed as if sha wint any hoigher, somethin’ 
would bust fer sure. Thin sha would brathe 
a bit, an’ Oi guess let out her corset; thin sha 
would commince t’ yill ^Ee!’ t’ schplit. Sure, 
Betsy, if sha is a muzzled sopranner, Oi don’t 
ever want t’ hear wan widout a muzzle. 

^^But it’s me disgrasthe Oi’m a feelin’ wust 
’bout, an’ Oi want t’ ba a tollin’ ye o’ thot. 
Afther Missis Schnivel got through wid her 
yellin’, sha come out an’ says, says she: 
^Mrs. McGinn, they are a tollin’ o’ me there’s 
a schtream near where they can ketch brook 
trout. Am Oi roight? Mrs. McGinn, it wad 
be jest too dear t’ all go a fishin’, an awfully 
swate if wa should git enough fish fer dinner.’ 
So Oi says, says Oi, ^Tha brook is jest tha 
other soide of Skunkville, an’ afther Oi git 
me bakin’ done, Oi will go an’ show ye where 
it is.” 

^^That ware good on ye. Mis’ McGinn, 
orful good.” 

^^So, in due toime, we ware on our way. 
The Schnivels hed fish-poles loike canes, but 


144 


THE BELL COW 


Oi put me Pat’s old fish-pole over me shuldther 
— ye know Pat hung it in th’ shed before 
he parted. Tha loine rached half way doon 
tha pole, an’ he schtuck tha hook into tha 
pole t’ kape it safe. Misses Schnivel put on 
her cool crash dhress an white shoes, so Oi 
put on me whoite waisth an’ black schkirt, 
an’ me canvas shoes; an’ t’ ba rale stolish, 
tha ither day Oi hed bought me some white 
schtockings, but me laigs are so fat an’ Oi 
stretched thim so a puttin’ thim on thot 
they only come to jest before me knees, so 
I pieced thim up wid some rid lawn Oi hed. 

^^Oi git meself so full of short breath whin 
Oi walk me so far, ’count of me soise, an’ 
ye know, Betsy, it’s ben so warrum lately 
that whin Oi walk Oi git t’ prosperin’ so it 
makes me all over schwet, — so Oi says, says 
Oi, ^Ye go on schtraight ahead, an’ kape an 
Oye back on me an’ Oi will give yer a soine 
if ye thurn tha wrong way.’ 

^^Whin wa got t’ Skunkville, Oi wus some 
behoind, a brathin’ hard on ’count of me 
shorth wind. Me loine got loosth from me 
pole an’ cought on tha back of me schkirt an’ 
no wan wus thor t’ ba a tellin’ of me, an’ it 


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145 


pulled up me schkirt, an Oi wus a showin^ 
me whoite schtockin^s an^ me rid tops! 
Whin Oi passed tha schtore, tha min an^ tha 
bys was a laughin^, an me not knowin^ sorry 
a thing tha rasin’, an’ thin Oi passed the 
saloon, an’ me inimy Casey who didn’t pay 
me nary a cint fer his boardth, wus a settin’ 
in th’ front porruch wid his feet on th’ rail. 
A bye yilled : 

^ Old womern, ye’ll ba aresthed if ye don’t 
look out!’ an’ Oi said: 

^^^Oi’ll show onythin’ Oi ketch,’ a thinkin’ 
fer sure he mint Oi would ba arresthed if Oi 
ketched undersoized trout. Ye know tha 
’rest ye fer tha loiks o’ thot. Tha all yilled 
an’ laughed at me answer, an’ Oi turned an’ 
looked at tha basts. Me Oirish wus a cornin’ 
up. Tha schtopped, but es soon as Oi turned 
me ’round, tha yilled agin, an’ thin the 
Schnivels come back an’ told me tha throuble. 
Oh ! Tha disgracth of it, Betsy Hassway, an’ 
before me loifelong inimy, Casey! Tha dis- 
gracth of it!” and Mrs. McGinn caught up 
the corner of the gingham apron and com- 
menced to weep. 

^^Oh, my sakes!” exclaimed Betsy Hass- 


146 


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way. That wus a dretful thing tew happen 
tew a respectable womern. Jest dretful! 
But think on ’t, Mis^ McGinn — it might a ben 
me, — a unmarried person with my thin 
limbs, rd a ben ’shamed nigh tew death. 
Land sakes! I feel my face a burnin’ now, 
jest a thinkin’ on it.” 

Mrs. McGinn suddenly changed her tune 
from crying to laughter. 

^^What be ye a laughin’ at. Mis’ McGinn? 
I don’t see nothin’ funny ’bout sich a orful 
happenin’.” 

'^Sure, Betsy,” Mrs. McGinn squealed, as 
she swayed to and fro, shouting with laugh- 
ter, ^'Oi wus a thinkin’ Oi don’t blame tha 
bys fer laughin’, fer if it hed a ben ye a marchin’ 
through town loike thot an’ Oi hed seen ye, 
Oi’d a laughed loike tha old bye himself.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


The New Hope. 

The morning sun rose high, throwing a 
great halo of light around the little cottage 
where lived old Benjamin Hover. On this 
particular morning, its rays were unusually 
bright and caressing. The birds that sang 
in the trees, and the bobolinks in the rolling 
meadows seemed to call with extraordinary 
sweetness. Honey-bees darted by, their high 
pitched crescendo like sweet strains of a violin. 
The rose vines which clung over the brown 
clapboards stretched their long climbers to- 
ward the little low windows like graceful arms 
reaching clusters of fragrant flowers toward 
the occupants within. Dignifled lilies stood 
erect and nodded their pure white faces in 
glad approval. A lazy cat, basking in the 
sunlight on the stone step at the door, purred 
loudly. All was contentment; all was peace. 

Within the cottage, in a quaint little room, 
upon a soft, white bed, lay a beautiful child 


148 


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mother, with her babe upon her arm. A new 
joy lighted the eyes of the little mother, as 
she watched her babe, — a new hope glowed 
in her face, and a smile played about the pretty 
lips. 

^^Oh, Aunt Betsy,’^ said the childish voice, 
^^how glad I am my child is a boy! I can 
call him Herbert. It is like a message from 
him telling me to be brave and of good cheer. 
Now I no longer want to die. I want to 
Uve, live, and see this little babe grow big and 
strong like Herbert. 

''He must come soon. DonT you think 
so, dear Aunt Betsy? And what will he say 
when he sees what I have for him. I know 
what he will say, and what he will do. He 
will take us in his big strong arms and carry 
us to the rose arbor; then he will tell us of his 
love for us. Oh, what a thing it is to live and 
love and be loved in return.’^ 

"There, there, dearie,^’ said Betsy, "go to 
sleep and then we will have another talk when 
ye wake up.^^ 

Aunt Betsy was fighting daily against 
hope. So many stories came to her that she 
almost gave up at times. Some people 


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149 


claimed they had seen Herbert in a nearby 
town; others, that he had been arrested for 
theft in some far away city. Surely, if he 
meant well by the girl, he could send a mes- 
sage to Aunt Betsy in safety; but even this 
he had not done. 

Betsy watched the little mother as she 
lay so innocent and pure, her hair falling 
over the pillow and clustering in golden 
curls about the face of the sleeping babe. 
^^Gin me strength, oh, dear God. Gin me 
strength tew help these tew poor leetle creeters. 
I ainT a goin’ tew gin up yit. Fm a goin^ 
tew help um night and day, a dewin’ and a 
thinkin’ good on um, and nary thinkin’ a 
doubt.” 

She arose and pressed her lips to the brow 
of the sleeping girl and stole noiselessly out 
into the arbor. '^My, what a glorious day!” 
she exclaimed, as she gazed about her. Jest 
seems as if things can’t stay out o’ kilter much 
longer, with nater a smilin’ ever’where ye 
look.” She took long, deep breaths of the 
fragrant air, and her spirits fast arose. Her 
honest gray eyes rested first upon the rose- 
covered cottage, then upon the blossom-laden 


150 


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shrubs in the yard, and last of all she shifted 
her gaze to the winding pathway leading to 
the road. Her face immediately clouded. 

^^Oh, my sakes! My sakes!’^ she ex- 
claimed. Coming up the path was Mrs. 
Smithers. 

She came with a jerking gait as though her 
legs were hitched to her body with hinges, 
she did not come to the house, but plumped 
herself down in the arbor. 

Good-mornin\ Mis^ Smithers,” said Betsy. 

^^Mornin^, Betsy,” returned the new comer. 

Betsy,” she continued, am ashamed 
’cause I feel I hev ben shirkin’ my duty. I 
hev ben feelin’ all along I orter come up here, 
but I couldn’t bring myself tew come ’till 
now.” 

^^Wa’al, Mis’ Smithers; nigh ontew ever’- 
body in the neighborhood seems tew be 
feelin’ the same way. Nobody’s been here 
’cep tin’ Ebenezer and me for nigh ontew tew 
months. I don’t see how they be goin’ tew 
help things by stayin’ away and hatin’, for 
hatin’ nary done anybody any good, and alus 
does the most harm tew the one who is a 
dewin’ it. Nobody hes any reason tew hate 


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151 


anythin^ or anybody. It^s jest ^cause we be 
animals yit that makes us hate and want tew 
fight ; when we git tew be real men and women 
bimeby, we wonH hate no more. Don^t ye 
think so, Mis^ Smithers?’^ 

Wa’al,’^ said Mrs. Smithers, ignoring Bet- 
sy^s question, “ I don^t want ye tew misunder- 
stand me, Betsy. I hain^t come tew mix in 
the way ye hev done. I hev come as a solemn 
duty tew save souls. That^s my mission in 
the world, and I ain’t ’shamed on’t. I’ve 
brung some tracts for her tew read. I ain’t 
wantin’ tew talk with her tew-day, for it will 
take time tew change sich a fallen one as her, 
but I guess she will understand what them 
tracts say about sinnin’ critters. They be 
tew the p’int.” 

^^Mis’ Smithers, ye don’t know nuthin’ 
about savin’ souls. If ye did, ye would a 
brought vittles instead of tracts. My sakes 
alive! I guess if ye’d sent a nice young 
pullet all cooked tew a turn, all fragrant and 
invitin’, with a leetle letter say in’ 'From Mis’ 
Smithers, with much love,’ it would a done 
a sight more good than a thousand tracts 
a sayin’ nigh ontew ever’body is a goin’ tew 


152 


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hell head down and feet up. My sakes!’^ 

^^Wa’al, I guess if ye read a few of these 
tracts, Betsy, ye will git afraid, ’cause the 
Lord is a tollin’ right in these here tracts 
what He intends tew dew tew ye, and how 
he intends tew dew it, that’s the wust on’t. 
The men who writ um was inspired by Him.” 

^^Wa’al,” replied Betsy, ^Hhe Lord is a 
tollin’ me ever’day not tew be afraid. He is 
a speakin’ words of hope and love through the 
sunshine and the flowers. Ever’ thing in 
nater is a sayin’ ^All is well; ye aire My chil- 
dem. I put ye here and I am goin’ tew take 
care of ye.’ Can’t ye hear the voice. Mis’ 
Smithers? If ye can’t, ye aire missin’ the 
most beautiful thing in life.” 

^^No, I can’t hear no sich stuff, and I don’t 
want tew hear it nuther. I’m happy knowin’ 
I am escapin’ hell by the skin of my teeth. 
Oh, if I only hed the power tew hold ever’ 
wicked unbeliever over the bumin’ pit until 
they gin in, wouldn’t it be a glorious callin’. 
How glorifying it would be.” 

^^Wa’al, Mis’ Smithers, we can’t see things 
jest alike. I feel I hed ruther hold folks up 
to the glorious light, a p’ in tin’ tew things that 


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153 


aire joyous and glad, instid of shakin^ um 
over hell; but of course ever’ one tew her own 
likin’. Let’s visit about somethin’ else, Mis’ 
Smithers. I hain’t seen ye in quite a spell, so 
let’s hev a good visit. Hes yer cow come in 
yit?” 

^^No, she hain’t come in,” snapped Mrs. 
Smithers. didn’t come here tew visit, 
Betsy, and I would be ’shamed nigh tew 
pieces tew be ketched here, so I will be 
goin’,” and up jumped Mrs. Smithers and hur- 
ried down the winding path. Aunt Betsy’s 
gray eyes followed her with a kindly look. 

^^Mis’ Smithers is a meanin’ well,” she said, 
^^but she is a orful cur’us creeter. Jest 
orful cur’us.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


The Berry Patch. 

Children, I be a goin^ tew make car Vay 
cookies while yeTe a berryin^ this arternoon, 
an^ Pm a plannin^ hot biscuit an^ honey fer 
supper; then I hev somethin’ more ye like 
all ready fixed up an’ hid away ’till supper 
time.” 

^'Tell what ’tis, Aunt Betsy,” said Willie 
Wooster. 

^^No, don’t. ’Sprise zus,” said Salvation. 

^'All right,” replied Miss Betsy. ^^When 
Mis’ McGinn blows her supper horn, ye come 
right hum, an’ Pll hev supper ready.” 

She followed the children out and stood 
watching them as they trudged down the 
path and out into the road. ^^What willin’ 
childern they be,” she mused, ^^an’ what a 
comfort they be tew a old maid like me. 
The boy hain’t ben here so long, but seems 
tew me Pm a lovin’ him jest th’ same as I 
dew Salvation.” 



She followed the children out and stood watching them 
as they trudged down the path 





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THE BELL COW 


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The children were now out of sight, and 
she went to the gate to look after them. 
They were walking backwards, child fashion, 
to see which could keep in the road the greater 
distance without looking around. They 
caught sight of her standing at the gate, and 
their tin pails glistened in the sunlight as they 
swung them over their heads to her. Betsy 
waved them a goodbye and started back 
toward the house. '^Oh, Lord,^’ she said, 
pressing her hands to her breast and looking 
up at the cloudless sky. P^int out the way 
fer me tew bring up them tew childem so 
they^ll be worthy creeters an^ happy alus. 
Help me tew show um how tew keep pusly an' 
thistles out of their lives, an' may they live 
so I'll alus be as proud on 'em as I am tew- 
day." 

She sat down under the old elm tree and 
gazed about her at the sloping meadows and 
distant hills. 

^^What a beautiful world Ye hev made, 
dear Lord," she said. How Ye are a speakin' 
tew us all th' time if we only stop an' listen. 
I can hear Yer voice now in the singin' of 
the birds an' hummin' of the bees, an' the 


156 


THE BELL COW 


fragrance of Yer love is bein^ carried tew me 
on the breeses from the clover fields, an’ I’m 
a seein’ Yer face in the sunshine, an’ Ye’r 
alus a smilin’ an’ a sayin’ tew me, ^ My child, 
don’t be afraid, there hain’t nothin’ tew 
fear; I’m a watchin’ over ye, an’ a sendin’ 
ye ever’ thing ye need, — love, health, happi- 
ness an’ prosperity.’ Lord, I’m a listenin’ 
tew Yer voice more an’ more ever’ day, an’ 
th’ more I listen, the plainer I hear Ye; an’ 
I’m a lookin’ fer Yer dear face ever’where. 
Ever’ day I see Ye a smilin’ through th’ 
flowers an’ a smilin’ from th’ hills. I uster 
be ’fraid at night when I would wake up an’ 
hear the wind a blowin’ through the trees, but 
now when I hear it, I say tew myself, ^’tis 
the Lord’s voice a sayin’, I’m here with ye 
all the time, so don’t be ’fraid. Ye’re my 
child, an’ I’m a lovin’ all my childem, — 
ever’ one. So don’t fear, — don’t hate. Re- 
member ye’r a child of love.’ An’ then Yer 
voice in the trees seems like mighty laughter 
instid of moanin’ as it uster, an’ it lulls me 
tew sleep.” 

The children walked down the road, dis- 
cussing their newly-made friends. 


THE BELL COW 


157 


^^DonT you think, Salvation, that Aunt 
Betsy is the grandest person anybody ever 
knew?’’ said Willie Wooster. 

^^Yaup, I do,” she replied. ^^Jest think! 
She’s goin’ ter bake car’ way cookies jest fer 
us, when she don’t like um ’tall. I guess 
that ain’t treatin’ us very mean. An’ wasn’t 
it good of Mrs. McGinn ter tell us we could 
go and git berries down there where they are 
so nice and big?” 

The children crawled under the fence and 
walked through the field to a small pasture 
lot back of the Starkweather house, their 
merry voices mingling with the songbirds’ 
notes as, among the clumps of trees, they 
made discoveries of berry bushes heavily 
laden with ripe blackberries. 

^^My, we’ll git our pails full in ’bout a 
minute, an’ en let’s visit Mrs. McGinn, ’cause 
Aunt Betsy won’t want us home ’till she hes 
the s’prize on the table,” said Willie. 

As the children had entered the berry 
bushes, a man stood behind a tree by the 
roadside watching them closely. He was 
shabbily dressed and unshaven, and had 
every appearance of a sneak. He looked 


158 


THE BELL COW 


from right to left to see if he was watched; 
then, jumping over the fence, started through 
the field toward the children, — skulking along 
like some beast of prey after a victim. 

The children prattled on, little thinking 
that there was anything to harm them in this 
quiet country place. 

I wish Uncle Eb was here to tell a story, 
donT you. Salvation? Last night he told me 
the grandest one. It all happened when he 
first come to this country. He said he was 
on top of that big hill back of his house, an^ 
he cut down a big tree. It fell sideways on 
the hill, an’ rolled clear down into the valley. 
He had so many logs that he didn’t go after 
it, but the next spring he was around the 
other side of the hill, and went down into 
the valley, an’ he found that log a rollin’ 
yet, — first down one sidehill, then up the 
other sidehill. It had wore itself rollin’ so 
long, until it was jest the size of a fish-pole, 
so he grabbed it as it rolled up the hill to- 
wards him, an’ took it home to catch fish 
with. He said it looked so much like a real 
an’ truly fish-pole that when he went fishin’, 
he never hed to have any line or bait; he jest 


THE BELL COW 


159 


held the pole over the creek, an^ the fish, think- 
in’ it was a sure-nuff fish-pole, would jump 
right out, an’ then he would catch um.” 

The boy looked from behind the berry- 
bushes, wondering why Salvation made no 
remark about the story. She was looking 
ahead of her with terrified eyes. The little 
brown freckles seemed to fairly stand out 
from her chalky-white face, and her lips were 
moving as if she were trying to speak. 

“Wall, I’ve got yer at last,” said the man, 
stepping in front of Salvation. “I’ve ben 
here three days a watchin’ for this here chance. 
Ye little brat, yer thought yer’d skip out, 
but I’ve ben on yer track, yer bet. And now, 
yer goin’ back with me. Don’t yer forgit 
I’m yer father, and when yer try ter sneak 
away agin. I’ll fix yer so yer won’t never 
creep away, as yer did before.” 

The child stood speechless, looking at him. 
She swayed as though she were about to fall. 
The man grabbed her by the arm, giving it a 
sudden jerk that made her cry out with pain. 

“Well, hain’t yer nothin’ ter say?” 

“No,” she answered in a low voice. 

“Where’s yer mother?” he growled. 


160 


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^^She^s dead. DidnT yer know she died at 
the place the Salvation Army tuck her when 
yer kicked her? They said she died o^ that.^^ 
Damn yer Salvation Army ! And yer shet 
up yer blab. I didnT come ter be preached 
ter. If sheM gone ter work that mornin^ in- 
stid o^ playin^ up sick, she wouldnT a got 
kicked. She was gittin^ lazy and puttin^ on 
that cough, and yer a stickin’ up for her! 
All through yer two, Lve ben dodgin’ ther 
p’lice ever sence. But now yer goin’ back. 
Do yer hear? I’ve got a place for yer that 
yer won’t much like, but it will bring me in 
some ready cash, and I need it.” He gave her 
another jerk as if to drag her along with him. 

Where do yer want ter take me?” she 
gasped. 

“Ter them woods where we will wait ’till 
night ter go on.” 

“ I won’t go without seein’ Aunt Betsy. Let 
me go. Please, Father. She’s ben so good ter 
me. Let me go and kiss her good-bye.” 

The man broke into a boisterous laugh. 

“Yer want ter go and kiss that old dried 
up citron, do yer? If yer w^ant ter kiss any- 
body, yer can kiss yer father.” 


THE BELL COW 


161 


will go!^^ and she tried to release her- 
self from his clutch. 

Willie Wooster had watched proceedings 
from behind the bushes, not knowing just 
what he could do to help Salvation the most. 
He had an impulse to run for help, but, know- 
ing he would have quite a distance to go, 
and the woods being so near, he hesitated. 
When he saw the man compelling Salvation 
to go, his little chest swelled up very much 
like a pouter pigeon’s, and he strutted out 
from behind the bushes with his little tanned 
fists clinched ready for battle. 

^Hf you don’t let her alone. I’ll knock yer 
block off!” he threatened. 

The man started, for he had forgotten she 
was with another child. 

^^Wall, ye’ve got nerve, kid,” he said, ^^but 
yer jest better keep out o’ this and yer won’t 
git hurt.” And again he began dragging Sal- 
vation away. 

Then a regular tussle began. Of course the 
children were no match for the man, but what 
they lacked in strength, they made up in 
screams. 

^^Aunt Betsy! Uncle Eb! Mrs. McGinn! 


162 


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Oh, Somebody!^’ they screamed, as they 
fought. They kept the man busy, for he 
was not a strong man, and the children fought 
like tigers at bay. 

He did not hear a heavy tread approach- 
ing, but soon an experienced hand clutched 
him by the collar, and with an easy pull he 
was landed flat on the ground by no less a 
personage than Mrs. McGinn. She lost her 
balance as the man fell, and came down with 
a slide, landing directly on top of him. There 
she sat as unconcerned as if nothing had hap- 
pened. Reaching quietly over, she picked up 
his hat and commenced to fan herself with it. 

'^Git up, ye mountain of fat! Yer hurtin’ 
my laigs!’’ he howled. 

^^Sure, Oi'm a settin^ aisy,^’ was Mrs. Mc- 
Ginnis reply. “Who tha divil aire ye, an^ 
phwat be ye a dewin’ in me berry-patch, a 
botherin’ tha two blissed lambs?” 

“She’s my gal, and I’m come fer her,” he 
said. 

“Wall, Oi’m glad t’ know for sure who yer 
aire. Willie, ye run loike blazes t’ th’ tinnis 
court an’ bring all me borthers.” 

The child ran toward the house, and the 


THE BELL COW 


163 


man, becoming more alarmed every moment, 
made a desperate effort to get out from under 
Mrs. McGinn; but that lady, well knowing 
that her extreme weight was her only weapon, 
commenced to jounce up and down, and 
shove herself along with her feet, until the 
man cried out in pain, — ^^Fer God^s sake, if 
yer bound ter set on me, set still! Yer a kill- 
in’ me!” 

^^Wall, thin, lay schtill, ye imp o’ Satan,” 
was her answer. ^^Yer in jail, an’ don’t ye 
thry t’ break out.” 

Mrs. McGinn’s boarders were unceremoni- 
ously interrupted by the child, as, between 
his sobs, he told them that Mrs. McGinn was 
sitting on the devil down under a tree in the 
pasture, and that he had come and fought 
with Salvation and himself, and that Mrs. 
McGinn knew it was the devil because she 
called him that right off. The boarders real- 
ized that something unusual had happened. 
They were wild for anything of an exciting 
nature, although Mrs. McGinn had something 
on hand every day. Down dropped balls 
and rackets, and all went running toward the 
berry-patch. There they found Mrs. McGinn 


164 


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calmly sitting on the man, who had given up 
all hopes of getting away, and was now plead- 
ing for mercy. 

^^Sure, it^s Misther Gray Oi^m a wantin’ 
most jest now,” she said, looking anxiously 
at the different ones as they arrived. 

Here I am, Mrs. McGinn. What on 
earth’s up now?” exclaimed the young at- 
torney, as he came running around the clump 
of bushes. 

^^Hev ye got paper an’ a fountain pin, 
Misther Gray?” 

The young man took out a wallet and 
nodded in the affirmative. 

^^Wall, thin, wroite as Oi dickertate. This 
man’s Salvation’s father come t’ steal her 
’way, an’ wus jest a draggin’ her inter the 
woods whin I heard thim a schramin’. An’ 
now he’s got t’ soign away all roights t’ her 
t’ Betsy Hassway, or Oi’ll set here on him 
till he does. Besoides, he’s wanthed fer mur- 
ther, an’ if we kape him, he sure ’ll git pinched 
fer thot.” 

^^But, Mrs. McGinn,” said the young man, 
'‘you cannot arrange such matters in this way. 
It would be a most unusual proceeding.” 


THE BELL COW 


165 


^^Misther Gray, donT ye talk back me. 
Oi^m tha jedge in these proceedings, an^ Oi^m 
a settin’ on this case; an^ if ye talk back 
me any more, Oi^ll hev ye foined fer contimpt 
o’ Court.” 

John Gray wrote as Mrs. McGinn dictated, 
but worded it slightly different. When she 
had finished, he handed her the paper and 
pen. She in turn, handed the pen to the 
man, with the extremely polite request of — 
^^Now soign, ye divil!” 

^^ril be damned if I’ll sign that,” said the 
man. 

Mrs. McGinn again commenced jouncing up 
and down and shoving herself along with her 
feet. 

The man soon yelled, — Don’t ! Quit ! For 
God’s sake, quit! I’ll sign anything!” 

She again offered him the pen, and he signed 
his name quickly. The gentlemen helped Mrs. 
McGinn to her feet, and the man slunk away 
into the woods, glad of a chance to flee from 
the country, after learning that he was 
wanted at police headquarters in the city 
for causing the death of his wife. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Betsy Hassway^s Announcement. 

At last “berry-pickin’ time” was over, 
and down in Betsy’s cool, little cellar sat 
many cans of berries in long rows. All 
shades from golden yellow to rich, dark red 
were represented. The neighbors had been 
invited to inspect the store, and Miss Betsy, 
with sleeves rolled to her elbows, stood with 
her hands on her hips, proudly telling what 
particular variety each can contained. 

“Ye jest orter seen Willie an’ Salvation 
come trudgin’ hum with baskits full o’ nice, 
ripe berries,” she said. “ Land sakes ! It tuck 
’most all my butter-money tew buy cans an’ 
sugar. Ye never did see sich willin’ childern.” 

Miss DeForest, since coming to board at 
the Starkweather house, had taken a great 
interest in Miss Betsy and her little house- 
hold. She would often come, bringing some 
little gift in return for the flowers Willie 
Wooster had so many times taken to her from 


THE BELL COW 


167 


Miss Betsy’s garden. So, as a matter of 
course, she was invited to inspect the cellar 
with its loaded shelves of canned berries. 

^^But, Miss Betsy,” she said, on seeing the 
store, ^^what in the world are you ever going 
to do with so many berries, with so few in 
the family to eat them?” 

'^Wa’al,” answered Miss Betsy, “we’re a 
goin’ tew hev more in our fambly this cornin’ 
winter. I wus a wantin’ tew tell ye last 
night, but ye hed that Mr. Gray with ye, so I 
couldn’t. Ebenezer’n me aire a goin’ tew 
hitch up double an’ see if we kin haul t’gether 
without bustin’ a tug. 

“Ye see. Miss DeForest, I’ve known Eben- 
ezer all my life, or I wouldn’t dew it, fer I’m 
a leetle bit skittish myself, an’ I would be 
’fraid he might back on the whippletree in 
case we come tew a long hill that we both 
orter climb tewgether; but he wus alus kind 
tew his fust wife, so I think most likely he’ll 
pull stiddy, an’ not be a rarin’ an’ pitchin’ in 
case the way become dark fer a time, an’ th’ 
road uneven. Ye know clouds be as useful 
as sunshine at times, an’ if we only step care- 
ful an’ sort o’ feel our way along, an’ don’t 


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git tew snortin^ an^ jumpin’ sideways before 
the sun comes out, we’re sure tew be all right, 
fer the sun alus does come out the brighter 
arter a cloudy spell. I hev a feelin’ in case 
it does git dark, that I kin take Ebenezer by 
the hand, an’ we can sort o’ help each other 
along over the rough places. 

^^Then ye know, sometimes, a team hes 
big rivers tew ford, an’ I’m a thinkin’ Eben- 
ezer’ll strike right out an’ swim if th’ water 
gets deep an’ lookin’ black, an’ not go tew 
kickin’ an’ git us both tangled up in th’ 
harness, an’ pull us down in the current 
where we might both sink. Yis, I’ve weighed 
my marryin’ Ebenezer pretty curfull these 
tew or three year, an’ I’ve made up my mind 
it’s th’ thing I order dew. Then, besides, he 
was a botherin’ me nigh tew death ’bout it. 
He wus alus ’round under foot askin’ me if I 
hedn’t made up my mind. Sometimes he 
jest made me think o’ Tom, my old cat, — 
alus in the way a yawlin’ an’ then purrin’ 
by spells, an’ jest as ye think he’s a goin’ tew 
purr right along an’ go ’way by hisself, fust 
thing ye know he’s back under foot agin, a 
yawlin’ wuss’n ever.” 


THE BELL COW 


169 


^'Well, I certainly wish you happiness, 
Miss Hassway, and I should be glad at any 
time to come down and help you get ready 
for your wedding. You think I donT know 
how to work, but I do; and I should enjoy 
doing something for you to show that I ap- 
preciate the beautiful flowers you have given 
me all summer long.^^ 

Thank ye, thank ye. Miss DeForest, but 
there hain’t nothin^ that kin be done jest 
now. All the neighbors hev ben orful good, 
an’ them that hain’t spoke tew me ’bout it, 
show by their kindness that they be a thinkin’ 
o’ me. An’ now that it’s all over, Ebenezer 
hes gone tew his darter’s in Ginnytown fer a 
visit, fer he wus jest tuckered out, so nobody 
hain’t goin’ tew set up. But, Mercy Sakes! 
How I be a makin’ ye stand up! Come right 
up tew the stoop an’ we’ll be a hevin’ some 
chairs while we dew our vis’ tin’.” 

Ascending the narrow, stone cellar stairs, 
they seated themselves on the porch, and 
Miss Hassway continued : 

I hev gray silk enough fer a dress. I hev 
hed it nigh ontew fifteen year, but never hed 
no good reason tew hev it made afore. I 


170 


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am a thinkin^ some of hevin’ it made Umpire 
gown, but I may hev it tight fittin\ In that 
case I might hev a Queen Ann front, an I wus 
a thinkin^ some, I better hev getherins in the 
back so it’ll kinda stick out where Fm in- 
clined tew be flat. Ye know. Miss DeForest, 
there hain’t no men around, so I’m speakin’ 
real plain; then I think them loop-the-loops 
aire orful pritty on the sleeves. I wus a 
thinkin’ I would hev the waist made a leetle 
loose in front so’s in case it don’t bulge 6ut 
enough, I kin put in a leetle piller, — men 
dew like a shapely womern, — an’ I dew think 
it does pay tew strain a p’int tew please 
them. 

We’re a goin’ tew the Littleton fair on 
our weddin’ tower, so I’m a makin’ the brown 
delaine with the polka dot in it for a travelin’ 
dress, as th’ polka-dot figure is alus stylish. 
I hain’t planned all the weddin’ yit, only I 
want the childern in it. I’m a goin’ tew hev 
Willie fer flower-boy, an’ I think I’ll ask 
little Dersy Cotton to come an’ stand with 
Salvation an’ march with us. I want um 
both dressed in white, an’ each one hev a 
wend an’ wave it as they march. We’re a 


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171 


goin^ tew be married week arter next on a 
Wednesday, at ten o^clock in the mornin^, so 
as tew go tew the fair in the arternoon, so I 
shall expect ye tew come/^ 

certainly shall, Miss Hassway, and I 
wish you all the happiness you deserve, and 
that I am sure is a great deal/^ 

“Wa^al, I hainT complainin’. Miss De- 
Forest, fer I feel Fm a gittin’ my share o’ 
happiness, an’ I hev quite a bit on hand jest 
now that I’m not a usin’, in case anybody is a 
needin’ it. I kin divide, as I hev noticed 
happiness is a thing if ye share it with others, 
yer stock increases; an’ th’ more ye distribute 
it ’round, the more ye hev on hand. If ye 
gin a lot o’ happiness away all th’ time, ye jest 
increase yer own supply. 

“Oh, must ye be a goin’, Miss DeForest?” 
Betsy protested as the young lady arose; 
“I’d be glad tew hev ye come soon agin. 
I’ll go tew th’ gate with ye tew pick a bunch 
of dahlias. I hain’t gin ye any o’ th’ pink 
ones yit.” 

As they reached the gate, the two small 
boys were passing with their cows, the little 
runt of a calf trotting along behind as usual. 


172 


THE BELL COW 


call that the country orchestra/^ re- 
marked Miss DeForest. think the tiny 
bell they have put on the calf an addition to 
the music, and Henry certainly does manage 
his orchestra well, — beating time with the 
crooked stick. The Bell Cow is a great so- 
loist, and quite an aristocrat among the cows 
of the neighborhood.’^ 

“Yis,” answered Miss Betsy, ^^she does 
jest the best she knows how; alus minds her 
own business and makes all the music she 
can. She bought Patience Scoville a new 
dress last week, and a pair of britches fer 
Henry, and, besides, she’s bringin’ up the 
Scoville baby an’ her own calf tew. She 
sartinly is a ’ristercat.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Christopher. 

^^Can I go visTin’, Aunt Betsy? said 
Willie Wooster; can see Uncle Eb over in 
his north lot fixin’ the fence. I have all the 
chickens fed an^ the ducks too, an’ I’d like 
to go vis’ tin’ like you do sometimes.” 

“Wa’al, run ’long, Willie — only come back 
when you hear the whistle blow at the mill.” 

^H’ve come vis’tin’. Uncle Eb,” called the 
young voice from behind the stump fence, 
^^but I can’t find a place through.” 

Wa’al, wa’al. We’ll fix that. I wus jest 
a goin’ over t’other side of the farm, an’ am 
glad tew hev comp’ny.” Uncle Eb’s big 
brown hand appeared over the fence, and the 
child caught it with his two little tanned ones, 
and soon he was standing safely on the top 
of the fence. Uncle Eb held him with one 
hand and stood back to look at him. 


174 


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Jest stand up thar like a soldier, same as 
Uncle Eb wus onct, an’ let me look at ye. 
My! My! What a fine boy ye’re a gittin’ 
tew be. Yer a gittin’ jest es fat es a leetle 
pig, an yer hair is so black an’ curly seems 
tew me t’would hurt.” 

^^Yes,” said the child, ^^Aunt Betsy says 
I must have it cut so’s to be all rigged up for 
your weddin’. Uncle Eb, I came over to 
talk ’bout the weddin’. I’ve somethin’ way 
back in th’ city I want to have brought out 
here for you an’ Aunt Betsy’s weddin’ 
present.” 

^^Wa’al, come ’long,” said Uncle Eb, tak- 
ing the boy by the hand, We’ll talk as we 
go through the field.” 

^^Well, Uncle Eb, somebody’ll have to go 
and git it. I can’t. Were you ever in the 
city, Uncle Eb?” The child pulled hard at 
Uncle Eb’s hand, and he looked anxiously up 
at the old man with his big, brown eyes, for 
he felt a great deal depended upon the reply. 

^^Wa’al, jest oncet. Arter Mary Ann died, 
I wus so lunsome I jest wanted tew git away, 
an’ I hed hearn so much ’bout th’ city bein’ 
so gran’, — Mis’ McGinn’s boarders aire alus 


THE BELL COW 


175 


a crackin’ it up — so I went down an’ wus 
goin’ tew stay a month. I put up at a big 
hotel an’ went ’round sightseein’ ever’ day; 
but one day I wus a settin’ by one of the 
winders in the front of the hotel, an’ a load o’ 
manure went past, an’ it made me so dumned 
humsick fer the farm, that I jest packed my 
satchel an’ come hum. I wus there jest 
three days, all told.” 

'^Oh, goodie! Then you know the way, 
and can go agin.” 

Think p’r’aps I could, Willie.” 

“Well, then, Uncle Eb, I want to tell you 
all about it. Come ’n set down under this 
tree a minute. You know at the Mission 
where I alwus lived? Well, one mornin’ two 
years ’go, — I was seven then. Uncle Eb — I 
got up real early. I was the first one out of 
the front door, and there set a big basket with 
a shawl over the top. I went and peeped in, 
and there was a little baby in it. I took 
the basket and all in and showed it to Miss 
West. She asked me where I got it, and I 
told her out on the porch. She said the baby 
wasn’t ours and it couldn’t stay; so she called 
a big policeman and they talked for a while. 


176 


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but anyway the baby stayed. The one who 
sent it forgot to send its name, so I called him 
Christopher, and I took him out for air in the 
go-cart they had at the Mission, an^ they 
called him my baby, an^ I loved him more 
than anybody else Till I came here and knew 
Aunt Betsy and you and Salvation. Now I 
love just four. I almost love Mrs. McGinn,^^ 
he thoughtfully added, but if I did love her 
real hard, she’s so big she’d take all my love, 
an^ then I wouldnT have any left. 

“And then,’^ he continued, “when he got 
bigger, I looked after him, and he slept with 
me in my cot, an’ I taught him to say words, 
an’ fin’ly, a httle good night, — one the lady 
from the church who used to come there 
taught me. And do you know. Uncle Eb, 
we always said ^ Bless Papa and Mamma,’ 
pertendin’ we had um, just like a little girl 
did who had a papa and mamma before she 
came to the Mission to live. And now. 
Uncle Eb, I want to have you go and get 
little Christopher, for he’s mine and I want 
to give him to you and Aunt Betsy for a 
weddin’ present.” 

“I swon!” laughed Uncle Eb. “Gin a 


THE BELL COW 


177 


person a bebby fer a weddin^ present ! Who- 
ever hearn of sich a thing! I swon!^^ And 
he laughed so loudly that the echo was heard 
again and again from the woods across the 
field. And supposing Betsy Hassway would- 
nT want it, Willie, what then?’^ 

“Yes, she would. Uncle Eb, cause yesterday 
I heard her talkin’ to Miss DeForest, an’ she 
said she liked Salvation an’ me, an’ that 
Mrs. Smithers had said to her once that she 
should think Aunt Betsy would send us two 
little brats back where we come from, and 
Aunt Betsy said she was glad she did not pay 
any attention to her, and that she was thinkin’ 
of sendin’ for a little baby that Willie Wooster 
had told her about, for she thought she 
would like a nice baby in the house. Honest! 
Uncle Eb! Honest.” 

“Oh, I b’lieve ye, Willie, an’ I wus jest a 
thinkin’ ye never asked yer old Uncle Eb fer 
nothin’ afore, an’ he hain’t a goin’ tew re- 
fuse ye, nuther, the fust time. Ye hev a big 
heart fer yer size, an’ Willie, long years ago, 
when yer Uncle Eb wus a leetle creeter like 
ye aire now, he hed a leetle playmate, an’ 
as I look back all these many years that hev 


178 


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past, seems tew me sometimes, when I see 
ye goin^ through th^ medders an’ hear ye a 
singin’, that I am agin a boy an’ ye aire that 
lee tie lad I played with; an’ it does my old 
heart good tew see ye so happy. Ye make 
yer old Uncle Eb happy sometimes when 
ye don’t know it,” and Uncle Eb took out his 
big bandanna to wipe away the tears that were 
running down his cheeks. 

Uncle Eb, I need to use it to,” said the 
child, turning up his little face to the old 
man to have the teardrops wiped from his 
long, black lashes. ^^Dear Uncle Eb,” he 
said, reaching up and putting his arms 
around the old man’s neck, with his plump 
brown cheek against the wrinkled one — 
you said the first day I come out here that 
I better not adopt you for a father, but I did 
just the same. I couldn’t helo it. I told 
Aunt Betsy I was wishin’ for a father all day 
long, and she told me that ever good wish is 
a prayer and will be answered if we only wish 
it hard enough. So I wished for you for a 
father, an’ Aunt Betsy for a mother, an’ 
wished it so hard all the time, an’ now it’s 
come — an’ when I’m awful happy. Uncle Eb, 


THE BELL COW 


179 


I sometimes ciy/^ He hid his little face in 
the old man^s neck with a sob. 

^^What a strange boy ye be, Willie, said 
Uncle Eb, patting him gently on the shoulder. 
“ I believe ye be my childhood playmate come 
back tew comfort me, an’ show me th’ way as 
th’ light grows dim. An’ then ye may be my 
drummer-lad, gone so long ago. Ah, it seems 
tew me, as I hear th’ beatin’ of yer heart, that 
it is th’ sound of the muffled drum, an’ I’m 
agin a marchin’ with th’ boys in blue. How 
ye do bring me back tew other days, Willie, 
how they dew come troopin’ by. 

We’ll jest go on hand in hand, Willie, jest 
as we come acrost the fields. Ye hain’t 
quite got on sure footin’ yit, but ye’ll be 
in a few more year, an’ then ye kin help 
Uncle Eb along ’till he gits tired an’ wants 
tew lay down an’ rest ; then, when he’s sleepin’, 
he’ll alus be a dreamin’ of ye ’till ye come. 
An’ I know I’ll be a smilin’ in my sleep, fer 
I’ll be a dreamin’ I hear ye singin’ in th’ 
fields; so ye can tiptoe away, an’ leave me a 
sleepin’. By that time yer arms will be 
strong, an’ ye kin be a helpin’ yer Aunt 
Betsy ’long th’ way.” 


180 


THE BELL COW 


Uncle Eb’ll go next week an’ git yer leetle 
Christopher. But, not one word. We’ll be 
a s’prisin’ Betsy Hassway.” 

As the whistle blew for noon at the little 
old mill, Betsy Hassway stepped to her 
kitchen door and looked out across the 
sloping meadow. 

^^Jest look. Salvation! See um cornin’ 
’crost the medder, — my tew sweethearts, 
Nine and Sixty-nine.” 



See iiin coinin’ ’crost the medder — my tew sweethearts, 
nine and sixty-nine” 





CHAPTER XVIII. 


Arranging for the Wedding. 

Miss Betsy had more assistance than she 
really knew how to use, in her preparations 
for the approaching wedding. The neigh- 
bors all wanted to do something toward mak- 
ing it a grand affair, as a wedding had not 
taken place in that vicinity for some time. 
One day a committee of women called upon 
her with the request that they be allowed to 
give her and Uncle Eb a wedding breakfast 
after the ceremony, making it a sort of a pic- 
nic under the trees in the yard. 

“Land sakes, no!^^ she replied. “The 
bride alus gins th^ vittles, so IVe heam. 
That is, when they hainT got no folks; so 
I’m a plannin’ tew hev Patience Scoville help 
me git it ready.” 

“ Wa’al,” remarked Mrs. Cotton, the spokes- 
man of the party, “Ye know, Betsy, we all 
want tew dew somethin’ fer ye, an’ lots on us 
can’t afford a present; so we thought we’d 


182 


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all club together an^ git up a nice breakfast. 
Them that can’t help much with bringin’ 
vittles can work, an’ t’ won’t be noticed, an’ 
then we’d all feel we ware a dewin’ some- 
thin’ tew show we aire a feelin’ fust-rate 
towards ye — then, besides, ye’ll hev enough 
tew dew gittin’ ready without tendin’ tew 
th’ vittles.” 

^^Wa’al, I’m a thankin’ ye all, an’ if ye 
look at it that way. I’m willin’, an’ a feelin’ 
that I jest hev ’bout th’ best neighbors in 
the world.” 

It was arranged that Patience Scoville and 
Mrs. Coffey were to make out a list of what 
each person should bring. Mrs. McGinn was 
to oversee the serving of the breakfast. 
There was a scampering from house to house 
to plan the great event. Patience stopped 
in to see Miss Hassway one afternoon. She 
was unusually happy for her, since, during 
the excitement of the last few days, she had 
forgotten her fears of being gobbled by a 
wild man, as well as her numerous other 
troubles. 

^^Miss Betsy,” she said, seating herself, 
^^Mis’ Coffey hes jest got the bill o’ fare made 


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183 


out, an’ I’m a goin’ tew print it on cards.’^ 

^‘Why, ye hain’t goin’ tew hev a bill o’ 
fare, be ye, Patience?” asked Aunt Betsy in 
surprise. 

^^Yis, we be. We think it’ll be lots more 
stylish. An’ Mis’ Coffey hes et at big hotels 
three dif’rent times, so she made it out jest 
like they hev um. Of course we hain’t per- 
tendin’ tew hev all th’ things we hev on this 
bill o’ fare, — hotels never dew. Ye know 
jest common bread puddin’ they call some 
outlandish name that a body would think 
it wus made by a for’ner an’ shipped over. 
That’s what Mis’ Coffey says. Here’s what 
she hes made out, an’ it sounds orful stylish 
an’ grand,” and Patience handed Miss Betsy 
the menu Mrs. Coffey had arranged. 

Miss Betsy read with wide open eyes: 

Wedding Breakfast Time Table. 

Meals served on a Cart. 

Fresh Young Chicken Soup. Ox Tail Soup, 
with Yoke of Eggs. Bridal Bits of Horse- 
radish. Roast Beef, awful well done. Roast 
Beef, that ain’t so well. Saddle of Veal 


184 


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with Stirrups. Deviled Hell-divers, singed 
and scalded. Brown Chicken, roasted with 
Mrs. SilFs style. 

Ring for Ice Water. 

Mrs. Cotton’s grand Emptins Biscuit. 
Boiled Eggs of Hen. Appetizin’ Tomatoes, 
by Mrs. Scoville full of stuffin’. 

More than one Kind of Desert. 

Bridal Pear, with pickled Hearts, sauce 
natural. Hand picked Blackberry Pie. 
Frayed Charlotte Russe. All kinds of Cake 
in Season. Fresh Young Gooseberry Pie. 
Bride Cantaloupe. Spotted Cow’s Milk, with 
Horns. Limburger Cheeze, with Caper Sauce. 


Menyow by Mrs. Brown-Coffey. 

want tew know!” exclaimed Miss Betsy, 
dropping her hands and the card in her lap 
and looking at Patience in a dazed manner. 
“I want tew know!” she exclaimed again. 
^^What be ye a wantin’ tew know?” 
^^Wa’al, I wus a thinkin’ ’sposen some on 


THE BELL COW 


185 


em should want some o^ them things, what be 
ye a goin^ tew dew?^’ 

^^Dew!’^ exclaimed Patience, ^^Why, we^ll 
dew jest as Mis^ Coffey says waiters dew in 
hotels; weffl git mad, or pertend we donT 
hear um/^ 

^^Wa^al, they might make ye hear um, as 
I would dew in case I wus ^spectin^ somethin' 
advertised, an' not gittin' it." 

^^Wa'al, if it comes tew that," replied 
Patience, ^^Mis' Coffey says waiters jest go 
out an' pertend tew git it, an' stay quite a 
spell, an' 'en they come back forgittin' it, an' 
go waitin' on somebody else, sayin' sideways 
tew ye, if they see ye aire still a 'spectin' — 
^Jest a minit. Hed tew send out arter it.' 
We've got it all planned. Miss Hassway, an' 
ye needen't look worried, 'cause Mis' Coffey 
knows a lot 'bout hotels. Must seem tew 
her zif she'd spent her life in um, hevin' 
visted um three dif'rent times." 

^^Oh, yis. Patience, I know ye all will ar- 
range it all right, an' Pm not a worryin' any, 
fer I want tew hev a leetle style 'bout my 
weddin' tew. Miss DeForest an' some of the 
others of th' Starkweather boarders aire a 


186 


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comin\ Of course I wanted tew ask Mr. 
Gray, ’cause he wus so good tew fix up th’ 
papers that gin me Salvation, — him a goin’ 
tew all that bother an’ never chargin’ me a 
cent. When I went tew see him ’bout it he 
said the fiowers I hev gin him this summer 
wus enough pay. Willie an’ Salvation each 
tuck him a can o’ berries, — th’ ones they 
picked th’ day Salvation’s father come a 
moochin’ ’round here — an’ he said he wus a 
goin’ tew take um back t’ th’ city an’ gin um 
tew his old grandmother, who uster live on a 
farm an’ put up berries jest that very same 
way. 

^^Mr. Gray seems sich a likely feller, an’ 
I’m a thinkin’ that old grandmother must be 
proud on him. Of course I knowed what we 
gin him wa’n’t no pay, so I hev knit him some 
of that lace Mis’ McGinn’s boarders aire a 
dingin’ at me all th’ time tew make fer them. 
An’ I’m a goin’ tew gin it tew him so he kin 
gin it tew th’ one he keeps comp’ny with, 
’cause a fine lookin’ feller like him hain’t goin’ 
tew run loose long ’thout gittin’ snapped up 
by a pair of pritty eyes. I am a hopin’ he’ll 
gin th’ lace tew Miss DeForest, ’cause they 


THE BELL COW 


187 


hev ben kinda purrin’ round together sence 
that fool feller went hum, — ye know th’ one 
that writ th’ story. I think his name wus 
^ Dirty Water.’” 

hain’t ben snapped up yit,” remarked 
Patience, ^'an I’m a waitin’.” 

^^Wa’al,” answered Miss Betsy, wus a 
waitin’ tew, an’ he come. Ye jest keep a 
waitin’ an’ ’spec tin’. Course he may not 
be spick an’ span an’ fine lookin’ like a sewin’ 
machine agent, but he’ll come when ye need 
him. Ye jest keep that in mind, fer I’ve 
tried it.” 

'^How did ye dew it?” asked Patience, 
shoving her chair close to Miss Hassway’s. 

'^Wa’al, I’ll tell ye. ’Twon’t take long. 
A long, long time ago, when I wus a livin’ 
here all alone, one night it was a stormin’ 
an’ I was ’fraid — bearin’ the moanin’ of th’ 
wind in th’ trees — an’ I lay awake clear inter 
th’ night, jumpin’ ever’ time th’ blinds blew 
shet. I wus a hatin’ th’ wind, an’ hatin’ 
bein’ alone, an’ hatin’ bein’ poor, an’ feelin’ 
I hed no friends, an’ folks didn’t like me, an’ 
bein’ sure no man did, ’cause he didn’t come. 
I was a longin’ fer leetle childem tew love 


188 


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an’ hev um love me. An’ I said aloud, afore 
I thought what I wus a dewin’, — ^ Th’ world 
is all out o’ tune, — all out o’ kilter.’ Jest 
then there wus a orful bang of th’ blinds, an’ 
a wurst moan in th’ trees. I ketched up 
th’ bed-clothes an’ pulled um over my head, 
I was so scart. Then all to oncet, as I lay 
there a tremblin’, a thought come tew me. 
'Is th’ world out o’ kilter, or is it me?’ an’ 
I pondered on it a’most all night. An’ en 
I commenced tew compare love an’ hate. 
What love wus a dewin’ fer folks, an’ what 
hate wus a dewin’ I knowed I hed ben a usin’ 
hate quite a spell, so I made up my mind I 
would try love a while. 

" Next mornin’ I got up an’ went ’bout my 
work a singin’. I hedn’t sung in so many 
year that it didn’t come easy. The hens 
cocked their heads on one side and looked at 
me wonderin’-like. Then Mr. Stebbins come 
tew my dure an’ wanted tew know if anythin’ 
wus th’ matter. I asked him why, an’ he 
said he thought he hearn some sort o’ yellin’. 
Then th’ rag-man driv ’long an’ stopped at 
th’ gate, an’ started tew git out of his wagon, 
an’ I kept right on singin’, an’ he set an’ 


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189 


looked at th^ house quite a spell, an’ driv on. 
Ye see I hed tew leam tew sing agin, ’cause 
I wus all out of tune; but I kept right on^ 
till now I don’t scare folks no more, an’ 
Willie an’ Salvation aire alus a teasin’ me tew 
sing with um. 

jest got tew thinkin’ — 'Betsy Hassway, 
what a selfish creeter ye hev ben! Ye jest 
quit it right away, an’ be a dewin’ somethin’ 
fer somebody!’ An so I tried that, an’ it 
come orful hard at fust, but I kept right on 
tryin’. I got tew thinkin’ that, as th’ Lord 
put me here, most likely He hed somethin’ 
fer me tew dew ’sides bein’ a old maid an’ 
nothin’ else tew speak on. So I tried tew 
think what it might be, an’ one day I wus a 
settin’ on my stoop a tryin’ tew think what 
it ware, an’ I see a real nice lookin’ lady a 
cornin’ intew my gate. She interduced her- 
self and said she was a boardin’ at Mis’ Stark- 
weather’s, an’ Mis’ McGinn hed ben a tellin’ 
her ’bout me a livin’ all alone, an’ she said 
she wus wonderin’ if I would like tew take 
a child out here for a spell, as she sometimes 
placed um for the Salvation Army. 

"Wa’al, I wus stumped! I hed ben a 


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wishin^ fer somethin^ of th' kind ever sence 
I hed changed my way o’ thinkin’, but 
hedn’t no idear o’ child ern without marriage. 
Somethin’ seemed tew tell me ’twas jest 
nat’ral fer this womern tew come tew me, 
so I fin’ly told her I would try takin’ care of 
a child a spell; an’ pritty soon Salvation wus 
brought tew me, an’ what she brought intew 
my life, no one can ever know but me. Then 
Miss DeForest told me ’bout All Souls Mis- 
sion, an’ Willie come ’long with his boyish 
fun an’ singin’. My weddin’s cornin’ last; 
but. Patience, where be ye a goin’ tew find 
nicer childern, or a better man, than mine? 
An’ I am a thinkin’ if I hed kept on a hatin’, 
I wouldn’t a got arey one on um.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The Arrival op Christopher. 

Uncle Eb and Willie Wooster had taken 
Mrs. McGinn and Miss DeForest into their 
confidence, and the latter thought best to 
ask the assistance of John Gray in carrying out 
their plans. Miss DeForest, who was well 
known at the Mission, had written and made 
all arrangements so that Uncle Eb would 
have no trouble in getting the child. She 
explained to them that little Christopher 
would have a comfortable home in the country 
with Willie Wooster, and they were most 
anxious to let him go. 

When all was arranged. Uncle Eb remarked, 
scratching his head, It^s a pesky big under- 
taking, a goin’ tew th^ city, an^ bein’ away 
from hum three hull days, — a durned pesky 
big undertakin’ ; but Willie hes a holt ontew 
me that I can’t shake off, an’ I hain’t a wantin’ 
tew if I could, so I’m a goin’ arter that bebby 
if I bust a tug a dewin’ it.” 


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wus chust a thinkinV^ remarked Mrs. 
McGinn, ^^that tha day ye go, ye betther 
schtart tha noight before so^s t’ git there on 
toime, ’cause ye may ba delayed an’ not be a 
gittin’ home till afther yer weddin’s over.” 

Uncle Eb’s carpet-bag was packed by Mrs. 
McGinn. A roasted chicken, doughnuts, ap- 
ples, and many other eatables being crowded 
in, and finally he was ready for his journey. 
Miss DeForest and Mr. Gray volunteered to 
drive him over to the station with old Kate 
and the platform, to help keep the matter a 
secret. When they had seen Uncle Eb safely 
on the train, they drove back to the Stark- 
weather house and found Mrs. McGinn al- 
ready in a panic for fear some dreadful calam- 
ity would befall him. 

^^Sure, he’s a old mon, a takin’ sich a long 
thrip, an’ Oi’m wurriet t’ me dith, thot Oi 
am, Misther Gray.” 

^^Uh, nonsense! How can he get lost, or 
anything happen to him? No changes on 
the route; my carriage meets him at the train 
and takes him to the Mission; he gets the kid; 
carriage takes him back, — and there you are.” 

Shure, it sounds will, but me hearth is a 


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193 


batin^ in me schtummick somethin^ turble, 
Oi^m so wurriet, thot Oi am, Misther Gray.’^ 

They were three long days for Mrs. McGinn 
and Willie. Mrs. McGinn chafed and railed 
at the boarders, and Willie Wooster stayed 
in the fields to avoid Aunt Betsy^s questions 
regarding his unusual nervousness and anx- 
ious look. Miss DeForest went down often 
and manufactured many stories. Miss Hass- 
way asked her concerning Mrs. McGinn, and 
why she was keeping at home so closely. 

Oh, she^s canning berries,^’ was her reply, 
not daring to tell the poor woman was on the 
verge of hysterics. 

^^Why, Miss DeForest, berryin' hes ben 
over quite a spell. 

^'Then it must be pickles,^^ Miss DeForest 
hastened to say. 

What a pritty baby dress ye be a makinV’ 
said Miss Betsy, noticing Miss DeForesFs 
needlework. Miss DeForest was making an 
embroidered linen suit for Christopher, and 
had another story ready for Miss Hassway, 
but after her mistake about the berry season, 
she forgot herself and replied, — ^^Yes, it^s for 
the baby when it comes. 


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Land sakes ! Them clothes look big ^nough 
fer a baby tew or three year old, an’ not a 
’spected baby.” 

I have a sister who has a baby two years 
old,” said Miss DeForest, trying to steer Miss 
Betsy off Christopher’s track. 

^^An’ ye be a tellin’ me she is a cornin’ out 
here?” 

'^Yes,” said Miss DeForest, with burning 
cheeks, telling a deliberate lie. 

^^When is she a cornin’?” insisted Miss 
Betsy. 

But, thanks to Willie Wooster, she was 
saved from telling any more falsehoods. He 
rushed in panting, as he usually did several 
times a day, with something of great im- 
portance on his mind. 

Do you know. Aunt Betsy, I’ve found old 
Dot’s nest. It’s under the boardpile behind 
the bam, an’ it’s so full of eggs I couldn’t get 
them all in my hat. Hain’t that a pretty 
good s’ prize?” 

The three days passed, and in a certain 
coach on a train nearing Ginnytown, was a 
tired old man and a beautiful baby boy. The 
child was sleeping, with his little tousled 


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yellow head in the old man’s lap, holding 
tightly to Uncle Eb’s thumb with its little 
chubby hand. 

''I’m a dewin’ it fer Willie,” said the old 
man, gazing at the little boy. "Dewin’ it 
fer Willie. An’ I’m a thinkin’ I know now 
why Willie loves ye, fer yer a diggin’ yer way 
intew my heart orful fast with yer leetle 
dimpled fingers — an’ it seems tew me there’s 
room fer ye. Didn’t know afore I hed no 
vacant place there, but ther must a ben, fer 
ye aire a gittin’ in — I knows ye aire.” 

The boy opened his big, wondering eyes, 
and, looking up into Uncle Eb’s face, lisped, — 
"Oor namch?” 

"My name’s Father, leetle feller,” said 
Uncle Eb, stroking the small, curly head. 

"Fazzer,” lisped Christopher. 

"Yis, Father,” repeated Uncle Eb. 

"Fazzer dot whisters like goat.” 

Uncle Eb roared with laughter, causing the 
passengers seated near to turn to see what 
was up, but he had eyes only for the boy. 

"Then Christopher hes seen a goat?” 

"Yesch,” answered the cherub. 

"That reminds me,” said Uncle Eb, "of a 


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leetle boy who uster hev a team o^ goats. 
They uster run away — an^ when he got um 
agin he uster whip um — an^ they got wuss an^ 
wuss — an^ I jest told him that that wa^nT no 
way. He jest orter be kind tew um, an^ ever 
time they run, tew pet um an^ feed um. An’ 
he said he’d try it. So he put some sugar 
in the back o’ his leetle wagon — an’ when they 
run away agin, he petted um an’ fed um — 
an’ ’twa’n’t only tew days arter they started 
tew run agin, an’ they thought o’ th’ sugar, 
an’ they turned right ’round an’ come a 
trottin’ back a blattin’ fer sugar. Hain’t that 
a good story? ” 

^^Dood tory. Tell nozzer.” 

^^Ginnytown!” shouted the conductor. 
^^Blixen! We’re hum!” exclaimed Uncle 
Eb, hustling to get his belongings together. 

Willie Wooster and Mr. Gray were at the 
car steps, and Miss DeForest was waiting on 
the station platform. 

Christopher’s come ! ” shouted Willie Woos- 
ter, as Uncle Eb appeared on the platform of 
the car. He ran to tell Miss DeForest, and 
back to the steps, nearly beside himself with 

joy- 


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197 


^^Oh, Uncle Eb, hurry he shouted, clap- 
ping his hands, as the old man went down the 
steps. I jest can’t wait. Uncle Eb.” 

Ebenezer Cronk felt well paid for his tire- 
some journey, when he witnessed the meeting 
of the two children. 

’Twa’n’t never planned fer them tew 
leetle fellers tew live apart, no more’n ’twas 
fer Betsy an’ me. Things alus come out 
right sometime.” 

hope so,” said Mr. Gray, casting a side 
glance at Miss DeForest, which made the 
pink mount instantly to the young lady’s 
cheeks. “I’ve been thinking these last few 
days that things are going against me.” 

“ It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” remarked 
Miss DeForest, who seemed anxious to change 
the subject, and indeed, it was an ideal 
September night. 

The old mare puffed as she pulled the load 
up the slope to the level road. Perhaps she 
had never before had such a load of happiness 
to tug along. 

Mrs. McGinn had supper ready when they 
arrived at the Starkweather house, and 
Christopher — after such a going-over as he 


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had never before experienced — ^was seated 
at the table, clad in one of the new suits Miss 
DeForest had made. 

Uncle Eb forgot his weariness, and told 
them of his journey in his usual, droll way, 
adding that ^^Mr. Gray^s hired man wus no 
seedlin^, fer he jest tuck me between trolley 
cars an^ round corners like lightenin’, an’ 
never tetched a hub.” 

After supper was finished, all started for 
Betsy Hassway’s cottage. When they reached 
the gate, Willie Wooster ran on ahead with 
little Christopher. As the wedding was to be 
the next day. Miss Betsy and Patience Scoville 
had been very busy, making goldenrod ropes 
to be festooned around the rooms. Betsy 
Hassway had just seated herself, and was 
watching Patience, who stood on a small 
table holding the goldenrod, with a nail 
started into the wall to fasten it up; but it 
seemed that every time she tried to hit the 
nail, she struck farther away. 

^^I’m a gittin’ mad!” she exclaimed, ^^an’ 
if I wus a man, I’d say damn.” 

^^Tut! Tut! Why Patience, ye s’ prize 
me! Jest take kerful aim.” 


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199 


Patience held back the hatchet and gave it 
a determined swing at the nail, but the hatchet 
came off the old handle, and fell on her toe, 
causing her to jump to one side of the small 
table, and over it went, sliding her along the 
wall to the floor, — tearing down the decora- 
tions that they had nailed up with such great 
care. 

^^Wa^al, did ye ever see anythin’ tew beat 
it?” she exclaimed, as she finally came to a 
stop, sitting down in the comer with the 
ropes of goldenrod around her. ^^Miss Hass- 
way, I hain’t no man, but I be a say in’ it tew 
myself, an’ I’m a sayin’ cuss an’ hell tew.” 

^^Hark! Hark! How ye be a goin’ on! 
It might a ben wuss; ye might a broke yer 
neck.” 

'^No un would a cared if I hed,” wailed 
Patience. 

In the door rushed Willie with Miss Betsy’s 
wedding present. The two women, with 
mouths wide open, looked at the beautiful 
child. 

Where on airth did ye git that pritty 
leetle creeter?” 

^^Aunt Betsy, this is Christopher, an’ I’m 


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givin^ him to you for a weddin^ present/’ 

^^What be ye a sayin’, Willie? I don’t 
understand ye. Is this Christopher, — yer 
lee tie baby Christopher?” 

^^Yes, Aunt Betsy, an’ Uncle Eb went all 
th’ way to th’ city to get him for us.” 

^^Wa’al, ye pritty leetle darlin’, come 
here.” 

The boy ran to her and put up his little 
arms, and she took him on her lap. 

^'Wa’al, Willie,” she said, don’t wonder 
ye love this baby. An’ I’ll be a lovin’ him, 
I know I will. Oh, how good ye all be,” she 
said in a husky voice, — dropping her eyes as 
if in prayer. I asked Yer tew send me love, 
an’ Ye aire a sendin’ it, till my heart is about 
burstin’ with joy. How good, — how good 
Ye be.” 

^^Oor namch?” asked Christopher, looking 
up into Miss Betsy’s face. 

^'Mother,” said Willie Wooster quickly — 
Uncle Eb said ’twould be Christopher’s 
mother.” 

Yis, Mother’s my name, little Christopher,” 
Betsy said, folding the small boy to her breast. 

^^Muzzer dot nice teef,” said the baby. 


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201 


^^Boo, hoo!’’ came from the comer where 
Patience had landed. 

^^Land sakes! Patience, whaPs a ailin' 
ye now? HainT ye got up yit?^’ 

^'Boo, hoo! I guess I hit agin a nail. 
I didnT know it at fust, but its a achin' 
now." 

^^Wa'al, jest go intew my bedroom an' 
put some woodchuck ile on't, an' ye'll be 
all right in th' mornin'." 

In came the remainder of the party, Mrs. 
McGinn bringing up the rear, with her usual 
gmnts and wheezes. 

^^Ebenezer, how kin I ever thank ye?" 
said Betsy, ^^an' how did ye know I was a 
wantin' this baby so bad all th' time?" 

Willie is th' one who started it all, Betsy. 
It wus a pesky hard jant, but they all helped 
me, an' now that I'm back safe an' sound, 
we'll be a celebratin' tew-morror." 

^^Wa'al," meditated Miss Betsy aloud — 
^^I've changed my mind 'bout carryin' pink 
asters when I'm married. I'm a goin' tew 
carry leetle Christopher. I nary hearn of a 
bride a carryin' sich in th' march, but I've 
beam of um carryin' all sorts o' things, an' 


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mebby I’ll be a startin’ a new fashing. Who 
knows?” 

I wish I, too, were going to march at my 
wedding to-morrow, Miss Hassway,” spoke up 
John Gray. 

^^Wa’al,” begun Miss Betsy, glancing at 
Miss DeForest and then back at him in a 
knowing way. 

I think I will really have to go,” said Miss 
DeForest, stepping out on the porch, followed 
by Mr. Gray. When partly down the gravel 
path, Willie Wooster came running after 
them. He caught each by the hand, and said 
to Miss DeForest: 

^'You thought I did not know what Mr. 
Gray said when we were drivin’ to the sta- 
tion to-night, but I did, ’cause I have heard 
him talk before when I’ve been caddyin’ for 
you two. He asked you to give him an answer 
to-morrow. Now, please. Miss DeForest, don’t 
say no, ’cause if you do it’ll spoil the wed- 
din’ day for me if I know Mr. Gray is sorry. 
Won’t you answer him to-morrow, dear Miss 
DeForest?” 

^‘Yes, Willie,” she murmured, stooping 
and kissing him, — ^^I will answer Mr. Gray 


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to-morrow, and my answer will not be no” 
^^You little brick!” exclaimed John Gray, 
catching Willie up and giving him a jump 
above his head — You^U get a gold watch for 
this.” 

Good-bye. Come early to the weddinM” 
shouted Willie after them, but neither heard 
him. 

tew hev some good news tew tell ye.” 
Miss Betsy was speaking to Mrs. McGinn and 
Ebenezer Cronk. “ There hain^t no use of my 
askin^ ye tew guess who come tew visit me 
tew-day, ^cause ye would never guess this one 
in the wide, wide world, so Fm a goin^ tew 
tell ye. It wus th^ womem from th^ leetle 
tent out on th^ hillside medder. She^s a 
lookin’ so well, an’ a gittin’ along so fast now, 
I’m a thinkin’ she’ll be all right by winter. 
What a lot o’ things they be in th’ world tew 
be thankful fer, Ebenezer.” 

Yis, they be, Betsy; an’ I am a thinkin’ 
yer paid in full now fer all th’ flowers ye hev 
ben a tuggin’ acrost th’ medder tew th’ 
leetle tent. Ever’ time ye went with a arm- 
full of flowers, ye made th’ poor sick thing 
smile, an’ that ware interest she ware a givin’ 


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ye on th’ debt; an’ when she come tew see 
ye tew-day, that ware th’ principal. So yer 
paid in full tew date. It’s alus better tew 
make folks smile than tew make um sigh; 
better tew make um laugh than tew make 
folks cry.” 

“Why, Ebenezer! Ye aire a talkin’ jest 
like a poet.” 

“ Shure it’s a foine sintimint ye aire schpris- 
sin’,” put in Mrs. McGinn. “Betsy, ye sar- 
tinly did roight a luggin’ of th’ flures to the 
pore sick womern. Most people don’t think 
of sendin’ ye any fun’ral flures ’till yer dead,” 


CHAPTER XX. 


Patience. 

seems tew me, Patience, that th^ sun 
hainT shun so bright in quite a spelFs it^s a 
shinin’ this momin’,” remarked Miss Betsy. 
'^An tew think Ebenezer’s a cornin’ in jest 
three hours, an’ we’ll be a gittin’ married an’ 
a drivin’ away tew th’ fair on our weddin’ 
tower! Folks be a meetin’ us an’ a noddin’ 
an’ a sayin’ — ^ How dew ye dew, Mis’ Cronk? 
How’s yer fambly?’ an’ Pll be a noddin’ 
back tew um, an’ a smilin’ at all on um, 
’cause seems tew me, I couldn’t dew any- 
thin’ else but smile tew-day. Jest look at 
all th’ gran’ presents I Things I never ’spected 
hevin’ on airth. Pm pritty proud ’bout 
Willie’s present. Never heam on no bride 
whatever a gittin’ a baby for a weddin’ 
present afore. Did ye, Patience?” 

Never hearn nothin’ much ’bout wed- 
din’s,” answered Patience, ^^An Pm ’fraid 
I hain’t never goin’ tew, nuther. Soon’s I 


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think I hev ketched a feller, I find out he^s 
went/^ 

^^Why, I thought ye was a gittin’ ^long 
fust-rate with the man yer father hed a 
helpin^ in th’ hayin\ I see ye a goin^ tew 
meetin^ with him, an^ I noticed ye walked so 
dost together ye almost teched, an’ that’s a 
pritty sure sign. At least a body’d think so, 
a lookin’ out th’ winder at ye a goin’ by.” 

^^Oh, he — he’s went, tew,” bemoaned Pa- 
tience. ^^And the wust on’t is I don’t know 
where he — he’s went, so I can’t write tew 
him. I ’most cry ever’ time I think ’bout 
him, ’cause I’m ’fraid I driv him away. I’ll 
tell ye how ’twas. We hed a cot put up fer 
him in the cheese-house — didn’t hev no room 
fer him tew sleep in th’ house — an’ one 
momin’ he didn’t git up, an’ my lee tie brother 
said he wus sick, so I thought it wus my 
chanct tew kinda git a clinch on’m by symp’- 
thy. Wa’al, ye know he wus a Swede an’ 
couldn’t understand fust-class, an’ that’s 
what caused all the trouble. When I got out 
tew th’ cheese-house he was wuss. I put my 
hand sorto onto his forrard an’ said ^ Poor man, 
dear poor man, be ye a ailin’?’ an’ he said: 


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207 


bane sake/ 

^^Then I noticed he didnT hev no piller 
under his head ; so I says, — ' Poor, dear man, 
yer hainT got no piller; 1^11 git ye a big piller 
right away/ An^ he said: 

^^^Maa Got! No! DonT bane gotten no 
more piller. I tuck four last night, an^ I bane 
yumpin’ aver sance to kap um down.^ 

^^Wa^nT it orful. Miss Hassway, sich a 
misunderstandin\ An^ where, oh, where will 
I ever ketch another?’^ 

Wa^al, why hainT ye got him? HainT he 
well yit?’^ 

^^HainT I a tryin^ tew tell ye he hes went?^^ 
said Patience, raising her voice. ^^When I 
went inter th' house arter the piller, my 
leetle brother told him it ware more pills I 
wus arter to gin him, an when I come out 
agin, he hed went, an’ I’ll never set eyes on 
him agin. Boo! Hoo, B’hoo!” 

^^Oh! yer hain’t goin’ tew cry on my wed- 
din’ day, be ye. Patience?” 

^^No, I hain’t,” said Patience, brushing 
away her tears, must go now, an’ finish 
th’ trimmin’.” 

Patience had been busy ever since sunrise, 


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decorating the house. She had mended the 
ropes of goldenrod that had been broken by 
her fall, and now she had them looped 
up with big bunches of asters, but Miss 
Betsy felt a little uncertain about the 
finishing touch. Patience^s uncle had kept 
a saloon in Ginnytown, and when he died, 
many of his belongings were removed and 
stored in a shed near her house. Patience 
ransacked the shed to find anything that 
might help her, in decorating, to give the 
cottage a grand aspect on the eventful day. 
As a result of her labor, a little banner hung 
from each loop of goldenrod, which read — 
Welcome Firemen^ and across the front of 
the cottage, was a banner about thirty feet 
long, with large red and blue letters, bearing 
the same inscription. 

donT jest know. Patience. It sartinly 
does look orfully perty, but donT ye think 
them words sound more like a revival than 
a weddin^? But, we’ll leave it, ’cause out 
here ever’body’s firemen in case they be a 
fire. Come tew think on’t, it’s jest th’ thing 
an’ what a orful expense t’wod a ben tew a hed 
anythin’ like this fixed up jest fer us.’^ 


CHAPTER XXL 


The Wedding. 

Ebenezer Cronk drove into the gateway 
at nine o^clock. He had come down in his 
platform wagon as the family were going to 
the fair in the afternoon on their wedding 
trip. 

'^Oh, Aunt Betsy! Look at Uncle Eb^s 
whisker! He^s got it crimped!’^ exclaimed 
Willie, espying Ebenezer from the bedroom 
window where Miss Betsy was rushing around, 
getting the children dressed so that she could 
prepare herself for the ceremony. 

^^DonT be a pullin^ an’ a wigglin’ ’round. 
Ye make a body out o’ patience,” was the 
reply, as Betsy, with trembling fingers, tried 
to dress the child. 

^^Aunt Betsy, will you be my step-aunt 
after ten o’clock?” 

^^Yes, — I mean No. Now, what be ye a 
bendin’ over fer? Now both buttons hes 
come unbuttoned. Salvation, why’re yer got 


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yer dress on hind-sides afore? Com-ere an’ 
let me pull it down at the shoulders. Willie, 
ye stand right where ye be, an’ don’t be a 
fidgitin’, ’cause I’ve jest got ye pinned in th’ 
back. Why, Salvation, I can’t hardly but- 
ton yer dress! Ye must hev et a orful lot 
this mornin’, ’cause I thought it tried on 
fust-rate yist’dy. Now, then, ye be sure 
an’ don’t sneeze, ’cause its orful tight, an’ 
’twon’t dew. Come, Willie, lem’me comb 
yer hair, an’ then ye’ll be ready.” 

The guests commenced to arrive. All the 
neighbors were invited, and they came on 
foot and in wagons, every family being rep- 
resented in full. The house would not be- 
gin to hold the company, so they chatted on 
the porch and in the yard. The women, 
under the leadership of Mrs. McGinn, had 
set tables under the trees for the wedding 
breakfast, and now all was in readiness. 

As the old clock chimed ten, Betsy Hass- 
way came out of her room, carrying little 
Christopher dressed in the dainty suit fash- 
ioned by Miss DeForest. No one had ever 
seen Betsy look so well. Her gray silk hung 
in graceful folds and seemed to match the 


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211 


color and shine of her beautiful eyes. Her 
face was beaming with smiles. 

Ye be a lookin^ perty pert/^ Uncle Eb said, 
as he took her arm for the wedding march. 

It had been arranged that they should be 
married under an old maple tree which her 
father had planted sixty years before. Rev. 
Heller was to lead the procession, and as he 
stepped out on the porch. Patience Scoville 
struck up Pull for the Shore’’ on the little old 
melodeon. Down the steps came good Rev- 
erend Heller with his open Bible; next came 
Salvation and Dersy Cotton, maids; then, 
Willie Wooster, as flower boy, with a big 
bouquet of pink asters. Childlike, instead 
of watching where he was going, he looked 
around at the people, consequently he missed 
his footing, and down the steps he went, 
falling flat on his bouquet. Quickly scram- 
bling to his feet, he trotted on. By this time 
Aunt Betsy and Uncle Eb had appeared. 
Patience was playing slowly, and Uncle Eb 
was taking very long, slow strides trying to 
keep in time, while Aunt Betsy took two 
little short steps to every bar of music, which 
made her appear to be dancing along. As 


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they reached the tree, they formed in a 
semi-circle, facing Reverend Heller, and the 
ceremony began. As they were not married 
with a ring, but wished to carry out Miss 
Betsy’s suggestion, she handed the baby to 
the preacher, who handed it to Ebenezer, 
and he in turn handed it back to Betsy. 

^^Jest bootiful!” said Mrs. Cotton in an 
undertone to Betsy, as this part of the cere- 
mony was concluded. Little Christopher en- 
joyed this sort of boosting around, and, 
laughing aloud, held out his dimpled arms to 
Reverend Heller to go around again. 

The ceremony was over, and Aunt Betsy 
was now Mrs. Ebenezer Cronk. As Rev. 
Heller raised his hand, asking God’s blessing 
on the pair, every head was bowed and all 
were very quiet. Suddenly from Salvation 
came a loud ^^A-chee-ee!” and a terrible 
ripping sound, which told only too well that 
Aunt Betsy’s fears were a premonition. 

Soon all was hubbub and excitement. 
Everybody was shaking hands and kissing 
everybody else. The children were at games, 
and shouting with glee, when alas — down 
the walk came Patience Scoville weeping. 


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213 


What on airth is a ailin’ ye now, Patience?’ 
said Mrs. Cronk. 

'^Boo, hoo!” sobbed Patience. wus 
jest a goin’ tew play ’till ye got tew th’ tree, 
an’ then they said they’d tell me, an’ I wus a 
waitin’ an’ no one come, an’ I played ’till 
jest now, an didn’t see ye git married at 
all! Boo! B’hoo!” 

^^Land sakes, Patience! Did ye think it 
tuck us all this time tew git tew that tree?” 

^^Boo, hoo! I thought mebby ye went 
’round th’ com crib jest fer a parade. Boo, 
hoo! An’ I never hev saw a weddin’, an’ 
hain’t never ’spectin’ tew see one.” 

But Patience could not weep long among 
so many happy people, and soon she was as 
loud in her laughter as any of them, and 
busily engaged in putting her menu cards 
in place. 

^^What fine presents ye did git,” compli- 
mented Mrs. Sill; hain’t never saw sich 
afore. An’ that beautiful picture Miss De- 
Forest sent of Mister and Mis’ Angelus out in 
their tater field with their heads bowed a 
prayin’. If they be any relations o’ hem, I 
guess they’re fine folks.” 


214 


THE BELL COW 


^^S^cuse me jest one minute, Mis’ Sill,” 
said Betsy Cronk, looking toward the road. 
Mrs. Smithers’ little daughter had come 
through the gateway, and stood there with 
her pitiful little face turned toward Aunt 
Betsy, as if she wished to speak to her. 

^^What is it, Manda? Did ye come late. 
It’s all right jest th’ same; we hain’t et 
yit.’^ 

^^No, I didn’t come tew th’ weddin’. Ma 
said I couldn’t come ’till ’twas over, but she 
sent ye this present.” 

'^Wa’al, can’t ye stay an’ play a spell 
with th’ childern, now that yer here?” 

can stay a hour,” replied the little 
sober thing. 

^^Wa’al, I’m rill glad. Ye can play, an’ 
then ye can eat at th’ weddin’ breakfast. I 
want tew gin ye a kiss, dearie. I’m a kissin’ 
all my friends on my weddin’ day.” 

The child put her thin little arms around 
Aunt Betsy’s neck and was embraced by the 
kind woman. As Mrs. Cronk started to 
arise, the little arms still clung to her. 

^^What is it, dearie? Dew ye want tew 
tell yer Aunt Betsy somethin’?” 


THE BELL COW 


215 


want tew kiss ye, now, ’cause ’tis yer 
weddin’ day. I didn’t hev nothin’ tew bring 
ye but jest a kiss, an’ that is one ye gin me a 
year ago, an’ I hev kept it ever sence, an’ now 
I’m a bringin’ it back tew ye fer a weddin’ 
present. I hain’t hed no kiss sence that one 
ye gin me a year ago, ’till now.” 

^^Ye pore leetle dear,” half sobbed Aunt 
Betsy, with swimming eyes. ^^Here are four 
on’em fer ye, an’ ye kin come ever’ week an’ 
play with Salvation an’ Willie, an’ then ye 
can bring back the kisses an’ git new ones 
each time.” 

'^Ma won’t let me come,” said the little 
white lips, with a quiver. 

^^Wa’al, hev a good time while yer here 
now. Mebby she will. I’ll ask her.” Aunt 
Betsy led the child to the other children at 
play. Willie Wooster came running to them 
and touched the little girl on the arm. 

^^Manda Smithers, you’re it!” he shouted. 

Then there was a scampering of the children 
over the grass, and, with a burst of laughter, 
Manda went flying after them. 

Aunt Betsy walked back to Uncle Eb 
and opened the package that Mrs. Smithers 


216 


THE BELL COW 


had sent her. She found it to be a little 
black-covered book. She looked closely at 
the cover, and read aloud the title. “The 
Slippery Slide to Perdition, or How the Few 
Escape Hell.’^ 

“What a orful book!^^ exclaimed Mrs. 
Cotton. “I think she is a insultin^ ye a 
sendin’ it.” 

“Oh, no, she hain^t,” said Mrs. Cronk; 
“it orter be a good book, fer I alus hev ben 
a thinkin’ most on us hes a leetle bit of hell in 
our lives jest tew make us stop an^ think — 
but it seems tew me if any on us kin live a life 
tew escape it entirely, he sartinly is a pritty 
good pusson. Mis^ Smithers is a meanin’ 
well, but she hain^t newfashioned hke most 
on us.” 

Mrs. Cronk looked up and found she was 
addressing Reverend Heller. 

“Yis, yer right. Mis’ Cronk. We’re all a 
changin’ our beliefs, an’ we’re a gittin’ more 
love an’ kindness in them, an’ chasin’ out 
th’ fear and hate.” 

“I alus knowed ye hed sense,” said Betsy, 
holding out her hand. “They aire a callin’ 
us. Brother Heller, an’ they can’t eat without 


THE BELL COW 


217 


us, ^cause Fm th' bride, an^ yer tew ask th^ 
blessin^^^ 

The happy pair seated themselves under the 
trees, and the women hurried back and forth, 
serving the breakfast. Mrs. McGinn, all in 
white, her dress starched stiff as a board, 
waddled about with an unusually broad 
smile, as she saw things were being served 
to her satisfaction. 

Stopping a moment by the bride and groom, 
she remarked: ^^Sure, what a foine weddin^ 
it is. There hainT ben a hitch. It wint 
jest loike a circus, an^ jest as aisy. Sure, 
Oi^m a plannin^ on tha winther avenins we^ll 
be a havin’ afther a whoile whin some of me 
borthers are gone. I’ll be a cornin’ duwn an’ 
we’ll be a settin’ in front of tha foireplace a 
spinnin’ yams an’ a vis’tin’ ’bout tha ould 
toimes. I dew loike t’ set in tha gloamin’ 
an’ look way back intew tha futer. An’ tha 
foine prisints ye got, Betsy, fer sure! Tha 
domin’ room chairs Misther Gray gin ye aire 
a takin’ me oye. Sohd golden oak, not tha 
loike o’ that in tha neighborhood! Sure, ye 
kin kape thim all yer loife, an’ hand thim 
duwn t’ yer ancisters whin yer done wid um.” 


218 


THE BELL COW 


The breakfast finally over, some of the men 
carried the little old melodeon out under the 
trees, and Patience Scoville played and the 
guests sang old time songs. Some one sug- 
gested that Patience sing something appropri- 
ate to the occasion, and she was very willing 
to grant the request. One not having heard 
her sing before, might have been alarmed, 
thinking by the screeching of her voice, and 
the way she threw back her head and stiffened 
her body, that she was suffering from an 
aggravated attack of spinal meningitis, but 
such was not the case. Patience led the 
singing at the services held in the little 
schoolhouse on Sundays, and always sang 
with great assurance, well knowing that she 
was the prima donna of the neighborhood. 
Her hands played over the yellow keys a 
moment, as she tried to recall some appropri- 
ate song, then, as one new and not too frivolous 
for the occasion came to her mind, she sung 
with great abandon, She’s More to be Pitied 
Than Censured.” 

Aunt Betsy came from the house, dressed 
in her traveling costume — the brown delaine 
with the polka dot. She had on her bonnet 


THE BELL COW 


219 


and silk mits, ready to start. Uncle Eb 
drove up with the platform, and commenced 
helping the children into the wagon. 

^^Oh, theyTe a stealin^ away!^^ came a 
shout from the yard, and a scampering 
followed. 

^^G’lang!” shouted Uncle Eb, starting down 
the driveway, flourishing his whip, while Aunt 
Betsy waved a little white folded handker- 
chief, and the children, standing up in the 
wagon, shouted with joy at the idea of steal- 
ing a march on the company. Many of the 
guests were also going to the fair, so there was 
a hurried scramble to get ready. As soon 
as they reached the doorway, wagons were 
filled with excited women and children, and 
down the driveway, out into the road, the 
horses trotted in pursuit of the bridal party. 

^^Ebenezer,^^ said Mrs. Cronk, as they 
passed the pasture field, I bflieve I see a cow 
in the lot with old Bess. Dew ye s^pose th^ 
fence is down? I kin hear a bell a jinglin^ 
tew. DonT ye hear it, Ebenezer?^^ 

^^Yis, Betsy, I hear it. An’ I’ll tell ye 
why she’s there. Yist’dy when I gin ye th’ 
hundred dollars fer a weddin’ present, I made 


220 


THE BELL COW 


up my mind Twa’nT enough. Ye^ll be a 
needin’ tew cows anyway, with our fambly, so 
I went down t’ Scoville’s this mornin’ an’ 
bought th’ Bell Cow. She’s ben a makin’ 
music all summer long fer us when we’ve ben 
a dewin’ our courtin’, an’ so I’m a thinkin’ 
she orter belong tew us. Ye know evenin’s 
when we’ve ben a settin’ on th’ stoop, how 
we both liked tew hear th’ sound o’ her bell a 
cornin’ acrost th’ medder from th’ poster- 
field ; an’ Betsy, th’ night ye said yis, it seemed 
tew me she kinda knowed somethin’ wus a 
dewin’,’ as Willie says, ’cause she kept her 
bell a ringin’ all th’ time, an’ it had a mighty 
joyous sound tew me that evenin’; an’ all 
through th’ marryin’ tew-day, I could hear 
her bell, an’ I wus a thinkin’ that gran’ wed- 
din’s in th’ city where they hev chimes, 
couldn’t a ben no happier weddin’s than 
our’n.” 

^^What a generous man ye be, Ebenezer,” 
she said; ^^I’m much obleeged tew ye.” 


CHAPTER XXIL 


A Voice In the Night. 

Quietness reigned at the home of Abel 
and Mary Desire Hutton. Since the shadow 
had been cast over their family, it seemed as 
though a stillness had come that was never 
broken, night or day. It might have been be- 
cause Pauline^ s voice was no longer heard in 
merry laughter in the orchard, or calling in 
the pasture fields, ^^Coo, bos! Coo, bos!^^ at 
even tide. Loneliness had taken possession 
of the place. Song birds seemed to have 
flown away, and left only the harsh sound of 
lowing cattle echoing from the distant past- 
ures. 

Abel Hutton had aged in the short time 
his daughter had been gone. It was the 
first time in his whole life that he had not had 
his own way, and now to have this disgrace 
upon him after years of lording over his 
neighbors seemed an awful punishment. Mrs. 
Hutton, more nervous and cringing than 


222 


THE BELL COW 


ever, hurried about her household tasks like 
a poor frightened slave. Once she had ven- 
tured to hint that Pauline might be in 
want, but an ugly growl from her husband 
quieted her at once. After that there was a 
wider breach than ever before. Conversation 
seemed to have ceased, and both suffered 
quietly in their separate ways. 

One evening after a day of weary toil, 
Mrs. Hutton sought her bedchamber earlier 
than usual, leaving Abel sitting on the old 
horse-block, where he had sat so many even- 
ings and early mornings looking across the 
valley at the fire-swept timber land which 
was now a constant reminder of his sorrow. 

Twilight came on, and still the old man sat, 
never moving nor turning his eyes from the 
hillside. At last his lips began to move, and 
a gutteral growl came forth. 

Curse him! Curse him! He ruined my 
leetle girl and burnt my woods tew try tew 
destroy her and cover up his deed. Curse 
him! If I ware only able tew kill him; yit 
the shame would still live on jest the same.^' 

He bowed his head, and great hoarse sobs 
shook him, but no tears came. Then he 


THE BELL COW 


223 


raised his tired old eyes again to the hills and 
sat staring until the little valley was shrouded 
in darkness, his mind weighing bitter thoughts, 
when faintly from somewhere out in the night 
came the sound of a man^s voice calling for 
help. The voice was very weak, and the 
old man so occupied with his own misery that 
at first he did not notice it; but the sound 
seemed to gradually come closer until he 
distinctly heard the call. 

Old Abel arose and started in the direction 
from whence came the sound. The moon 
was just peeping over the hilltop, but the 
light was so dim that he could not see far 
ahead. He trudged on, now and again 
stopping to listen. Sometimes he thought the 
sound of moaning came; but the calling had 
ceased. Suddenly, as he came to a turn in 
the road, he beheld a man creeping in the 
dust. 

The old man stepped into the shadow of a 
thorn-apple tree and watched the stranger, 
who struggled to arise, only to fall again. 
After resting a few moments, he would creep 
on a short distance and then fall prostrate in 
the dust. 


224 


THE BELL COW 


him/^ said Abel — know it^s him. 
This is jest the way I hev ben wishin^ for him 
tew come back — creepin\ But he won't 
creep much further. He hes taken a life from 
me; it won't be no sin tew take a life from 
him." 

As Abel watched the man, he gloated over 
the suffering he saw before him. The first 
smile that had been on his countenance for 
months came, but it was a wicked smile of 
hate. When at last the man sank down with 
a groan as though he had given up trying to 
go any farther, the old man came out into 
the moonlight and stood by him. 

^^Wa'al, ye cursed critter, what dew ye 
want," he said, glaring down at the prostrate 
figure. The man struggled until his face 
was upturned in the moonlight. It was an 
awful face, with a shaggy black beard and 
ugly bead-like eyes that looked up at Abel. 

I want — I want — " he began faintly — to 
get to Hutton's farm. It is here somewhere, 
ain't it?" 

‘^Wa'al, suppose'n it is?" answered Abel, 
a marked disappointment in his tone, as he 
discovered that he had mistaken his man. 



Waal, ye cursed critter, what dew ye want ? ” he said 
glaring down at the prostrate man 



THE BELL COW 


225 


dyin', and I must get to Hutton’s be- 
fore that. Can’t you see I’m near to death. 
Ain’t you goin’ to help a dyin’ man on his 
way?” 

^^What dew ye want with Hutton? I’m 
him, and ye won’t hev tew go no nigher my 
house tew tell me.” 

Give me a hand then, and help me to the 
cool grass.” 

Abel helped the fainting man to the road- 
side and steadied him as he sat. 

You had a woods bum a while ago,” said 
the man. 

^^Wa’al— ” 

^^Do you remember a man cornin’ to your 
house that momin’ and askin’ for a bite to eat? ” 

^^Wa’al— ” 

You didn’t give him nothin’ only a curse, 
and he made up his mind to burn your 
woods.” 

Wa’al — ” again came from Abel. 

^^He did burn your woods for you.” The 
poor fellow’s head sank as though he were 
unable to proceed, but finally he found 
strength to continue. I’m sick unto death. 
A doctor has told me so. But I didn’t trust 


226 


THE BELL COW 


nobody; I wanted to tell you myself. I ain^t 
sorry for you, for you are a bad one, people 
say hereabouts. I heard them two children 
talkin^ in the woods that day, and found it 
was blamed to them. Tramps ainT so bad, 
after all, and I ainT goin’ to die and have 
that young feller go to jail for what Lve done. 
Take this book; in it it tells all about it in case 
I died away from here.^^ 

The stranger sank back upon the ground 
and lay so still that old Abel thought he was 
dead, and placed his hand on the man^s heart. 
Suddenly he began again, ^'Lve listened 
around here nights and know how things are. 
You can let him come back, for I done it.” 

There was another long silence broken 
only by a low moan. AbePs hand stole again 
to theman^s heart, and he could feel no throb; 
but the man spoke again. 

ainT dead, and I want to tell you I have 
done my part; now you do yours, then you 
wonT be friendless sometime and dying by 
the roadside like me.” 

After these words, his mind began to 
wander, and he spoke of things the old man 
did not understand. 


THE BELL COW 


227 


coming, Mate/^ he said, stretching 
out his arms in the moonlight, Fve been bad, 
but Fm goin^ to you now to try again. You 
will help me, won’t you. Mate? I have made 
this right for the young folks, hain’t I, Mate? 
If I had seen love like theirs earlier, I’d been 
a better man — but now I must try again. 
Yes — I’m cornin’. Mate. It’s hard to leave 
the good old world, after all, but Fm cornin’.” 

There was a sigh and all was still. 

The old man gazed a moment into the 
slowly closing eyes, then arose and trudged 
down the road. 

Wa’al, I guess I hev the dead holt now,” 
he murmured. ^^Gin away that Herbert 
didn’t burn my woods? I guess not! I 
ain’t no fool. The proof is all in my hands 
now. All in my hands,” he repeated, clutch- 
ing the little book which the man had given him. 

^^This proof would save Herbert from the 
penitentiary. Jest takin’ my youngun won’t 
send him there, ’cause she would marry him 
yit if he came back. Curse him ! I’ve got him 
now where he will hev tew answer to me.” 
And he trudged on home with a more sprightly 
step than he had walked for months. 


228 


THE BELL COW 


A stray dog trotted down the road kicking 
up a dust that rose and floated away into the 
moonlit flelds. Suddenly spying the form 
of the man lying in the moonlight, the dog 
cautiously circled around it, ventured closer, 
sniffing the air; then sitting up on its haunches 
and pointing its nose sk3rward, rent the air 
with dismal howls. And so through the 
night, the tramp dog stood guard over the 
body, seeming to know by instinct that the 
man was also a tramp. And as in death, a 
king has guards, also in death, this tramp 
was not left alone. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


A Light In the Darkness. 

The valley was shrouded in darkness. 
Here and there a faint light shone from little 
old-fashioned windows, throwing out a timid 
ray across fertile fields of meadow land and 
grain, soon to be lost in the solemn blackness 
of the night. As the evening wore on into 
early night, the faint rays of light disappeared 
one by one, as the occupants retired to their 
beds, and finally but one candle burned in 
the valley. 

The pale flame seemed like a beacon light 
to call some traveler on the dusty road to the 
httle cottage from which it shone. Within 
a child was tossing on a bed of pain, and an 
anxious mother was bending over the little 
form. The child was Amanda Smithers. 
The straight-laced doctrine of the mother 
had been too much for the little one, and now, 
as months passed by, her lonely life had be- 
come unbearable and the little thing had 


230 


THE BELL COW 


collapsed over the sorrows that seemed so 
great to her childhood life. Rolling and 
tossing in delirium, she called piteously for 
Aunt Betsy. 

^^Dear Aunt Betsy, I hev been wantin^ ye 
tew come. Ma ainT like ye be. She don’t 
love me or kiss me; nary does nothin’ but 
scold.” The little arms clung around her 
mother’s neck, frantically imploring Aunt 
Betsy not to go away and leave her. 

^^Hush, Manda, hush,” her mother was 
saying. I’m yer ma. Betsy ain’t here, and 
ain’t cornin’. Ye lay down now and don’t 
fuss, ’cause it’s wickedness and the devil that 
makes ye act so. I’m bringin’ ye up in fear 
and tremblin’ like ye orto go, so ye will be 
saved.” 

The little arms relaxed, and the child lay 
quiet for a moment ; then the big wistful eyes 
opened wide, and she knew it was her mother 
bending over her. 

“I ain’t wantin’ tew live no more,” said the 
little thing. ^^I hain’t no doll tew love nor 
nothin’, and I want tew die ’cause Aunt 
Betsy says God is good and loves little chil- 
dem and wants them tew play.” 


THE BELL COW 


231 


Manda, I ruther see ye dead than wicked. 
I am dewin^ the best I can for ye. I canT 
let ye go playin’ with the childern at Betsy’s. 
I can’t tell ye why, but they be wicked, — 
all on um — and ye ain’t goin’. Now, stop 
yer fussin’ and go tew sleep.” 

Again the child threw out her little arms 
calling for Aunt Betsy. ^^Oh, Aunt Betsy, 
ye hev come tew love me! Take me home 
with ye, where I can play. Take me away, 
dear Aunt Betsy. I’ve ben wantin’ tew go 
so long ’cause Ma don’t love me. She ain’t 
like ye. Nobody likes Ma but me. Nobody 
comes only tew scold ’cause ever’ body is so 
wicked; and now I want ye tew take me tew 
live with ye, dear Aunt Betsy, ’cause ye 
say ever’body is good and lovin’. Take me 
home with ye. Aunt Betsy, dear; take me 
away from Ma.” The little arms clung 
around her mother’s neck, and the little hot 
lips pressed the frightened woman’s cheek. 

Mrs. Smithers, although severe, was not 
intentionally cruel. Her bringing up and 
hidebound creed made her unkind to the 
child without knowing it. She was greatly 
alarmed, for at last she realized that the child 


232 


THE BELL COW 


was seriously ill; they were alone in the cot- 
tage, and it was night. 

Never before had the little arms embraced 
her with any feeling of love, and as she now 
felt them clinging to her, the child believing 
she was Betsy and begging to be taken away 
from her mother, an awful misery stole into 
the woman’s heart, a loneliness indescribable. 

^^Manda, Manda!” broke forth Mrs. Smith- 
ers, hoarsely, am yer ma, and I dew love 
ye, Manda. I dew love ye. Til let ye go 
tew Aunt Betsy’s tew-morror. I’ll dew any- 
thin’ for ye if ye will only git well. Oh, 
Manda, we be alone! Oh, what shall I dew, 
dear God, what shall I dew?” 

The little arms relaxed, and the child fell 
back upon the pillow. The little face was 
deathly white and the big eyes stared vacantly. 

^^Oh, Manda, Manda!” called the frantic 
woman, ^^Ye ain’t a dyin’, be ye? Speak 
tew me, Manda. Mebby I hev done wrong, 
but I hain’t meant tew. Speak tew me, 
Manda! Oh, dear God, help my Manda tew 
speak tew me or I will die!” 

A faint smile played around the parted 
lips; then the big sad eyes slowly closed. 


THE BELL COW 


233 


Mrs. Smithers drew back, and stood by the 
bedside, her scrawny hands clutching her 
throat, trying to tear away the stifled feehng 
there; then a hoarse groan broke from the 
ashy lips. ^^Manda, she is dead, and I hev 
killed her!^^ 

Terror seemed to seize the poor woman, 
and she ran madly from the cottage. Soon 
she was in the meadow, stumbling and falling, 
then struggling to her feet and staggering on 
toward Aunt Betsy ^s cottage; Anally she 
reached the path leading to the door, and 
making a supreme effort, she struggled on 
and caught the old porch post and stood 
trembling and gasping for breath. 

Through the little window she could see 
Aunt Betsy sitting, with Willie Wooster, clad 
in spotless white, kneeling at her side, his 
chubby brown hands clasped in prayer. The 
kind woman bent lovingly over him with her 
hand upon the curly head as if in blessing. 

Mrs. Smithers staggered into the room. 
^^Oh, Betsy,’^ she moaned, ^^help me. Help 
me. I know ye will, Betsy. Manda is dead. 
I thought I ware bringin^ her up right, and it's 
killed her. Oh, Betsy, pray or do somethin'." 


234 


THE bell cow 


Aunt Betsy folded her hands on her breast 
and bowed her head in silent prayer; then 
placed a kiss upon the white forehead of the 
wretched woman, and hurried out into the 
night, followed by Mrs. Smithers. 

Guided by the flickering light in the Smith- 
ers window, they were able to find their way 
to the cottage through the darkness. Betsy 
hurried into the bed chamber where the httle 
form lay so still, and tenderly took the child 
to her breast. “Dear leetle Manda,^^ was all 
she said. There was a slight movement of 
the thin little fingers that Betsy tenderly 
held to her lips. A thrill of joy shook her, 
for she knew the child was ahve. 

Betsy raised her smiling face to Mrs. 
Smithers. “Manda ainT goin’ away jest 
yit,’^ she said; “she is goin’ tew live tew play 
in the sunshine and be a makin^ us all happy 
ever^ day.^^ 

Mrs. Smithers knelt by Aunt Betsy^s side, 
her bony hands caught the fold of her skirt 
and clung to the faded cloth. 

“Betsy, dear Betsy, donT leave me. I am 
skeered tew be left alone. I am so wicked. 
Stay with me until Manda gits well, and learn 


THE BELL COW 


235 


me how tew make her love me like she does 
ye.'' 

At last the moon rose on high, throwing a 
flood of light into the Uttle room, and the soft 
rays caressed the little form. A new hope 
was all about the place, and little Amanda 
Smithers slept peacefully. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


The Last Day. 


Deer Kid 

its oful xitein out hear jest now, we hav 
jes had a last day of School. 

We hed Speakin an readin eses on the last 
day and it all went Bully 
111 tell You now bout the last day. Everbodys 
fokes come to the xersizes. We kids aU 
had to git up an speal befor the bunch, First 
Thing mis Parker gave us all cards an onum 
told how we stood, I was ninty in the shade. 
Emerson shakspeer Sill got only 68. I think 
the teecher markt Him off for droolin cause 
ever time she told a story an he got to listenen 
real close he alus droold an he mite a got 
markt off for that. The xersizes Opend by 
all of us standin in a row singin — Deer Deer 
What can the matter be, Parents Dont Visit 
the School — then we had queries. Next thing 
was Dersy Cottons esey on bein good. She 
Let me take it to rite to you. Here it is. 


THE BELL COW 


237 


Beingood Some can be good and some seem 
to cant. Little Girls are better than little 
Boys, they dont chase boys with ded snaks 
an they dont throw big flat stons in the 
crick wen boys are pickin pebbels on the bank 
soz to make water splash all over them soz 
they get jawd for wadin when they haint 
waded in the water.. Its a tryin time for 
little Girls when their mammas go vistin 
with the Baby and leav them to home all 
alone when they dont no wher the preservs 
are at. Thats oful tryin. Then its harder 
to be good wen mamma gos vistin and leavs 
a Little Girl home with the Baby and wen it 
squalls and digs its nails in a Little Girls eyes 
its oful hard to be good and kind and not slap 
it some. Anen its oful hard to be a good 
Little Girl wen mamma ses Now go to bed 
as erly as hafpast 7 somtims Anen if you 
dont budge caus compny is ther an somethin 
good is cookin to be all et up as soons your 
asleep! Mamma ses papa guess youl hav to 
tend to Dersy, she's bein bad wen all Dersy's 
doin is wan tin to stay just this once somethin 
papa an mamma dos ever nite anen Mamma 
marches her off to bed an Dersy holdin back 


238 


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as much as tis safe to do an not git spankt 
anen Mamma ses now say your prars an dont 
forgit to pra for papa an Mamma an the nice 
compny Down stars. Oits hard to be good 
septin when Christman birthdays and cir- 
kuses are comin an then tiz easer. 

Dersy Cotton. 

Then Emerson shakspeer Sill spoke his peas 
an got all balld up. He spoke it rite ever 
day for a weak an then got up an sed like 
this — Littie Children love onother but leav 
them lone an they will come home and bring 
Their Tails Bhind them. Then he comenst 
to beller but Mis Parker is oful good, she led 
him to his seet and sed Emerson merly got 
his Sunday verse and this one mixt-thats all. 

Willie Wooster. 

Mis Fitt, one of the visitors then sung the 
Gipsy Warnin and then we speld down. I 
got up genst the word dunce and spelt it duntz 
and was down and out in a minnit — then the 
dericter spok to the school He swung his 
fists and hoUerd offul just as if it hurt him 
to get rid of his speech. He had it ritten of 


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239 


for the teecher to File — so he said. I herd to 
women say was turble dull but I think its 
gran and Ime goin to lern it and speak it next 
last day. 

When he set down teecher gave 
us each a littl card with a yello chicken on it 
and school was out and we all took our books 
and slate home — and what do you think Kid 
I aint et mush out hear yet. DonT you wish 
you was me. 

Willie Wooster. 

Sure enough, Willie did commit the speech 
to memory, and his kind teacher allowed him 
to speak” it to her. This he did with 
many swingings of his arms and bellowings of 
his voice; but perhaps his memory was faulty, 
or his brain too small for the Director’s words, 
— at any rate, this is what he recited : 

Little Children — I will say only a few 
words and they will be short, but I want to 
compress it on ever pupil be he boy or be 
he girl that now is the time to get eddication. 
Get full of learning! Drink from the ever 
flowin’ font that rises below you, and sinks 
higher an higher till you reach the summit of 


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the depths of all philosophy. Think how hard 
it is to live a life of ignorance and depresshum ! 
Think how easy it is if you have a colege on 
your back. Look you to the fame that has 
come to Platt Depu, and last but not least to 
the santed Rockyfellou — look you how these 
men with their knowledge and sunny smiles 
have had snap after snap come rappin’ at 
their doors — and if it did not come spry they 
had ways of persuadin’ it we noeth not how 
but yet we fail to follow in their footsteps! 

Eddication along definite lines done it. 
Learn all you can. These men’s names are 
goin’ down in history. Why? Because they 
improved their opportunities and more. 
Think you their names will not go down in 
history? Look at the rate they have gone 
down in the last few years, and then ponder 
o’er my words. 

An’ now dear boys and girls, while you’re 
enjoyin’ eddication and enlightenment and 
are able to have me with you for instructor — 
take way out in Aferky are little boys and 
girls with no schools. They live among the 
wild beasts where the offul snake — the boy in- 
struckter — crawls ready to gobble them up 


THE BELL COW 


241 


too offul for me to discuss here in presens of 
your kind teacher, and before your startled 
gaze. Feast not your minds too much on 
hispy-pon-pon-pullaway-and-andyover — but 
live in a way that you can say with the sages 
— ^The Millumum Has Come. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Little Mandats Party. 

Mrs. Smithers was not a woman to change 
her way of thinking in a day, but Mandats 
sickness and the terror of the thought of 
losing her, had made a deep impression. She 
awakened to find that love had not been left 
out of her nature. Like many others, when 
she found she was not loved, a hunger gnawed 
at her heart; a great desire came to possess 
her child’s love. 

Manda had recovered quickly. Aunt Betsy 
was much at the cottage, and Mrs. Smithers 
seemed to lean upon her for strength. When 
Manda was running about again, one sunny 
afternoon, all dressed up in their Sunday 
best, Mrs. Smithers and Manda started forth 
on what seemed to Mrs. Smithers a great 
undertaking. She had decided to give Manda 
a birthday party, so naturally, her first call 
to give invitations was at Aunt Betsy’s 
cottage. 


THE BELL COW 


243 


It was almost a question, as they walked 
down the road, which of the two was the 
older, Mrs. Smithers or Manda. Mandats 
little dress of dark brown was so long that 
her little pigeon-toed feet could scarcely 
be seen; while Mrs. Smithers^ dress of ex- 
actly the same make and color, was above the 
tops of her shoes, displaying two broom-stick 
ankles clad in stripes. Mrs. Smithers nipped 
along down the road, and little Manda fol- 
lowed closely behind, never looking to right 
or left. 

They reached the cottage in great solemnity, 
and informed Betsy of the party to be, very 
much as one might break the news of a death; 
then Mrs. Smithers seated herself with Betsy, 
and Manda went to find the children. 

Back in the garden. Uncle Eb was digging 
potatoes, and the children with a big basket 
were picking them up. 

^^Oh, there comes Manda Smithers!’’ 
shouted the children, at once deserting Uncle 
Eb, and running to greet the new comer. 

^^Wa’al, I swon!” exclaimed Uncle Eb, 
straightening up. ^^Now we will hev a lot 
more help.” 


244 


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Sober little Manda pulled Salvation close 
to her and whispered in her ear a moment. 

^^She says she’s all dressed up and can’t 
pick up potatoes, Uncle Eb.” 

^^Oh, wa’al, then she can look on. It ain’t 
polite, anyway, tew hev company work.” 

Again little Manda put her lips to Salva- 
tion’s ear and whispered away almost audibly. 

She says she wishes yer would tell a story, 
Uncle Eb.” 

Wa’al, I was jest thinkin’ it ware about 
restin’ time. Come on and we’ll all set under 
the crabapple tree. But I ain’t goin’ tew 
tell no story without ever one on ye speak a 
piece.” 

There was a scampering for the crabapple 
tree. 

Wa’al, let me see,” said Uncle Eb, when 
he was seated with the four children around 
him; with wide open mouths, and eight 
little eyes all in a row anxiously awaiting. 

remember one orful dry summer that 
we hed when I fust come tew this valley,” 
began Uncle Eb. ^^It ware the driest time 
I ever see. It didn’t shed a drop of rain for 
months. My hogs got so dry their sides all 





“ Waal, let me see,” said Uncle Eb, when he was seated with 
the four children around him 







-A.'V 



THE BELL COW 


245 


cracked open and I bed tew douse water over 
um ever^ mornin^ tew make um hold swill. 

remember one momin^ I ware a settin’ 
on my stoop wishin’ for rain, and my wife 
come around the house excited-like, and said 
she see a orful dust cornin’ up from the ravine, 
and she wanted me tew go down and see what 
it ware. So I went down in the holler and 
stood by the bridge and watched the dust 
cornin’ a sweepin’ up the valley. When it 
got nigh enough, dumbed if I didn’t find out 
it ware a drove of fish cornin’ up the crick that 
ware a kickin’ up the dust. 

^^But, finally, it did rain like timeration, 
and I want tew tell ye about that. 

started tew town airly one momin’ for 
feed. I hedn’t got far when I hed tew drive 
over a bridge and the stun wall that ware at 
each end of the bridge and the stun piers in 
the middle hed all shrunk tew most nothin’, 
bein’ so dry. When I got most over the 
bridge, down it went, and there the team 
and I hung in mid air. The old mare ware 
hanging by the bits, tail down, and my foot 
ware snarled up in her tail, and there I ware 
a bangin’ by one foot, head down, under her. 


246 


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and scared nigh tew death for fear she might 
cough and come loose, for she hed the heaves 
somethin’ turrible, and I knew if she did 
come down, I would be squshed. Wa’al, I 
hung there quite a spell, then finally I decided 
what tew dew, and what dew ye think it wus? 
I hed tew walk nigh ontew six miles afore I 
could git a hatchet tew cut my foot loose 
from the hair in that mare’s tail! 

^^Wa’al, finally I got tew town and wus 
jest startin’ for hum, when I see a orful big 
cloud comin up, and sheets of rain pourin’ 
down. I put the gad tew them horses, and, 
my sakes, how they did run. Ever once in a 
while I looked back, and the faster my 
horses run, the faster the rain come; but 
nothin’ could beat them horses, never. We 
jest flew up the road and in tew the lane, 
intew the barnyard and then intew the barn. 
Then how the rain did come down on the 
shingles, but tha wan’t one drop on them 
horses, or me; but when I looked around, 
after gittin’ stopped in the barn, I see my 
wagon box ware clear full of water, for it hed 
been rainin’ in the hind end of the wagon all 
the way from town.” 


THE BELL COW 


247 


“ That was ’most as bad as the other night 
when it rained lizards and angleworms, wasn’t 
it, Uncle Eb?” 

Oh, wuss. Lots wuss.” 

Again Manda put her little hand over her 
mouth and buzzed away in Salvation’s ear. 

^^She says she wants yer ter tell another 
story,” said Salvation. 

^^Wa’al, I guess I will tell ye one of the 
times I hed makin’ maple sugar once. I’ve 
hed lots of experience makin’ maple sugar, 
I gar. I remember one spring my brother, 
who lives out west, sent for me tew come and 
help him make sugar. 

nary see sich a fine place tew make 
maple sugar afore. The land ware jest as 
level as a floor out there on the prairie, so we 
sot our sap tanks up on the hill so the sap 
would run down tew the bilin’ works. We 
hedn’t a bit of trouble getherin’ the sap, for 
tha wan’t a tree in fifty miles, so we could 
drive anywhere with the oxen instid of goin’ 
around the trees the way we hev tew here in 
our sugar bush. 

Wa’al, when we got the sugar bush tapped, 
my sakes, them trees run jest like timeration. 


248 


THE BELL COW 


Why, we couldn't begin tew gether the 
sap fast enough, and it run down the hill intew 
the valley and made a new river, and we 
called it Saphead River. One night arter we 
hed the cows milked, we brung the milk tew 
the house for my brother's wife tew strain, 
and jest as we ware gittin' back tew the bam, 
his wife called tew know where we got the 
symp. We didn't know what she ware 
talkin' about, but when we looked intew 
things a leetle, we found that the cows hed 
been drinking the sap from Saphead River, 
and ever' one on um ware a givin' syrup instid 
of milk." 

^^Manda, yer ma is ready tew go!" called 
Betsy from the kitchen door. 

^^Y-e-s-s!" shrilled Salvation. We're 
com-i-n-n." 

But little Manda hesitated, holding some- 
thing very tightly in her little fist. 

She says she has a present for yer. Uncle 
Eb." The little girl advanced slowly and 
placed a big pants button in Uncle Eb's hand. 

^^Wa'al, wa'al. That's jest what I ware a 
wantin'. My gallus bust a button off this 
mornin'." 


THE BELL COW 


249 


Tin coinin’ again ter-morror,” said Manda. 
^^Ma says I can come ever’ day, and some- 
times as often as ever’ other day.” 

'^Wa’al, I’m glad tew hear on’t,” replied 
Uncle Eb, as the children went scampering 
toward the house. 

The next afternoon Betsy was seated out 
in her yard, busy with her piece work. The 
children had gone to the party, and as she 
worked, she could faintly hear the sound of 
laughter and singing coming across the mead- 
ow from the Smithers orchard. 

^'The needle’s eye 
That does apply 

The thread that runs so truly, — ” 

sang the happy chorus. Then the breezes 
carried the echo of the singing away in an- 
other direction. 

Aunt Betsy smiled and nodded her head 
in approval. After a time the singing could 
be heard again. 

There stands the dusty miller 
Grinding in his mill. 

As the wheel turns round 
He’s a grinding — ” 


250 


THE BELL COW 


and again the voices floated away on the 
breeze. 

Smithers is gittin’ on the right 
track/ ^ she mused; ^^She is a bringin’ heaven 
here instid of waitin’ ’till arter she dies. How 
happy she ware lookin’ y is tidy! Ain’t it 
alus jest so — ^when a body goes tew makin’ 
others happy, they make themselves happy 
also. Yis, Mis’ Smithers, at last ye aire on 
the right track.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


On the Turnpike. 

Abel Hutton jounced along in his heavy 
lumber wagon on his way to the village for 
a load of feed. The last few months had 
made a great change in the old man. His 
body seemed more bent, and the lines had 
deepened in his sallow face. 

^^Abel is a suffering orful,^’ Ebenezer had 
remarked to Aunt Betsy. Nobody dast 
say a word tew him, he is so crusty, but I 
tell ye, Betsy, he is suffering and I think if 
Twa’n^t jest ’cause he don’t want anybody 
tew see him gin in, he’d go over and take 
lee tie Pauline hum.” 

No one knew the state of the old man’s 
mind, not even his wife, who watched him 
closely. He trudged about his farm, going 
through the same daily routine. His face 
was set and drawn with a certain energy, yet 
a listlessness was shown in his every move. 

As he left the village and turned into the 


252 


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country road which led up the valley to his 
farm, he overtook a pedestrian. 

Would ye keer tew ride a ways?^^ he 
called, pulling up his team. 

Thank you,” returned the man, — 
should be very glad to do so. I am going 
to the Starkweather house. I came hur- 
riedly, and did not notify them to meet me.” 

He was a man of fine appearance, tall and 
noble looking. His clothing was black and 
he wore a Roman collar. 

^'Be ye goin’ tew board at Mis^ Starkweath- 
er's?” inquired Abel. 

^^Well,” answered the gentleman, can- 
not say how long I will be there. I was there 
last summer for a rest, but this time I came 
on a different mission. I performed a cere- 
mony for a young couple when I was here 
last summer, and have just heard that they 
have had a great deal of trouble.” 

^^Who be they?” asked Abel, shifting the 
lines in his trembling hands. 

^^The young man was Herbert Hover, and 
the girl, Pauline Hutton. Of course you have 
heard all about the affair, if you live in this 
vicinity.” 


THE BELL COW 


253 


“Yes, I hev hearn onT,^’ replied the old 
man, with trembling lips. 

“Yes, well, 1^11 tell you how it came about. 
I got acquainted with this young man when 
his mother died. I often strolled over to 
their cottage, and was much attached to him, 
— he seemed so manly, and took such tender 
care of his invalid mother. I found him 
intelligent and interesting, so I loaned him 
books and tutored him from time to time. I 
often met Miss Hutton, and it was not hard 
to understand why the young man lost his 
heart to her, for she was a girl who possessed 
unusual beauty, and seemed such a nice little 
thing in every way.^^ 

“Did ye airy hear um say anythin’ about 
her father and mother?” asked Abel. 

“Well, I never heard the girl speak of them 
except in kindness. The young man told me 
that the father objected to him and was very 
bitter and unrelenting. I took it upon myself 
to make some inquiries, as they insisted upon 
my performing their marriage ceremony be- 
fore I returned to the city. No one to whom 
I spoke had a kind word for the father. All 
said he was stubborn and cruel by nature. 


254 


THE BELL COW 


always encroaching upon the rights of others, 
and making a slave of his wife. Isn^t that 
the general impression?^’ inquired the Rever- 
end Metcalf. 

hain’t nary hearn anyone speak well on 
him/’ answered Abel honestly. 

weighed it well,” continued the pastor, 
^^and when I looked upon the sincere love 
of the two young people, and contrasted it 
with the detestable actions of her father, I 
decided that I was committing no sin in 
making them man and wife. But I fear I 
made a mistake. A short time since, I re- 
ceived a letter from Miss Hassway, — it was 
sent in care of a friend of mine in the city, and 
reached me in Berlin, — and so I am here to 
stand by these two young people. It’s a 
shame, the scandalous stories I hear have been 
circulated about them. I cannot imagine 
such a beast as her own father must be to act 
as he has.” 

^^Did ye say he wus a beast?” faltered 
Abel. 

^^Yes, and worse!” denounced the min- 
ister, warming up. ^^And to think I have 
been away and could not help them! It 


THE BELL COW 


255 


hardly seems possible that a father could 
forsake his child, when he is responsible for 
her being here in the first place, just because 
she finds the man of her choice and follows 
a God-given instinct. The father turns her 
out of house and home with curses, and helps 
to make her name a by-word in the com- 
munity, when all she has done is to give herself 
to the man she loves, in holy matrimony, and 
bear him a child. She has committed no sin, 
and yet she has been treated as though she 
were a viper. The father should hang his 
head in shame, for, even had she committed 
the sin he was so quick to believe of her, 
after the treatment she has received from 
him, he would have been mainly responsible. 
A child owes duty to its parents; but parents, 
after bringing a child into the world without 
its consent, certainly owe it kindness and 
every protection possible. Some animals feed 
upon their young, and I do not think they 
are any more unnatural than Pauline^s father; 
but such a father will be brought to suffer, for 
such is the law.^’ 

^^Dew ye mean he will go to hell?^’ 

mean he is in hell now. There is a 


256 


THE BELL COW 


punishment for every sin, and it comes swift 
and sure/’ 

Dew ye know anythin’ tew prove there be 
a heaven and a hell?” 

^^Yes, there is positive proof right here in 
this little neighborhood. Go look at Pauline’s 
father. Such a degenerate as he, is surely in 
hell. On the other hand, look at that kind 
soul, Betsy Hassway. She is near heaven’s 
gate, for our Lord hath said, ^The kingdom 
of heaven is within you.’ We are children 
working our way toward the light. Every 
sin retards our progress, for it is progress all 
the way along; here in this world, and in the 
world to come.” 

Abel pulled his team to the side of the road. 

Ye will hev tew walk the rest of the way.” 

Thank you very much for the lift,” said 
the minister, alighting. 

The old man held out a trembling hand 
falteringly : I’m much obleeged tew ye,” he 

said. 

^^For what, my good man?” asked the 
minister, heartily shaking the extended hand. 

^^Tha hain’t nobody airy talked tew me 
afore like ye hev tew-day, and I’m a thinkin’ 


THE BELL COW 


257 


mebby Abel Hutton deserves jest sich a 
talkin^ tew. Mebby it would help him. I’d 
like — Fd like tew hev ye come tew my house 
afore ye go away. Would ye come if my 
womern would kill a chicken?” 

certainly would be glad to come/’ re- 
plied the minister, laughing heartily; but the 
old man was very serious, and, as the team 
poked on up the road, something glistened in 
the dim old eyes and finally dropped down 
upon the withered hands. Faster and faster 
the teardrops fell, until, as the team stopped 
in the shade of an old maple tree to rest, the 
haggard face dropped into the scrawny hands, 
and great sobs shook the bent form. Those 
were the first tears he had shed since forty 
years ago, when he had stood by the open 
grave of his mother. Now as the salt tears 
fell, a new hope seemed to come to him that 
he might yet make amends for a mistaken 
life. 

It’s orful hard tew gin in,” he sobbed, but 
I want my leetle Pauline back. I want her 
singin’ and laughin’ around the house; but 
it’s orful hard tew gin in.” 

The team walked on to the barn, and when 


258 


THE BELL COW 


they were unhitched and fed, Abel trudged 
to the kitchen where his wife was nervously 
hurrying about getting dinner. 

Abel seated himself by the window, his 
old slouch hat drooping mournfully around 
his face, quite in keeping with his usual 
appearance. Mrs. Hutton was in a panic 
at once, for she took his manner as a fore- 
runner of a storm, and dared not look at 
him. 

^^Mary Desire,’’ said he slowly, ^^set down. 
I can’t talk tew ye when ye rattle the kittles 
so.” 

She glanced at him in surprise. Surely 
this softened tone was not Abel’s. She 
meekly did his bidding without a word. 
Twice his eyes rested upon her and then 
turned away, and he murmured to himself. 

It’s orful hard tew gin in.” Finally, making 
a supreme effort, he managed to say, — 

Aire ye goin’ tew see Pauline?” 

She turned white, then red, and nervously 
fussed with her apron strings. ^^How did 
he find out?” she thought to herself, for, 
in reality, she had stood it as long as she could, 
and a large basket was already packed and in 


THE BELL COW 


259 


readiness in the cellar, and she had intended 
to steal away in the night to the little cottage. 

^^Yis, Yis, — Oh, I mean no. I hain’t ben. 
I rilly hain^t ben.^^ 

^^Wa’al, I should think ye orto go. Ye 
know she aire all we hev got. Mebby she 
aire in want. Hedn’t ye airy thought on^t?^^ 

Mrs. Hutton was speechless with surprise, 
ain^t goin’ tew cultivate this arternoon, 
and ye might drive over and see if Pauline is 
a wantin’ anythin’.” 

Still Mrs. Hutton did not speak, but sat 
staring at her husband in astonishment. 

guess I hev made some mistakes, Mary 
Desire, but yit I ain’t so mean as all on um 
be a tellin’. I ain’t holdin’ no grudges agin 
um no more. I want her back here, and I 
want tew see her bebby. I want tew hold 
it in my arms same as I did her.” 

^^And him?” gasped Mrs. Hutton, at last 
finding voice. 

^^Yis, and him tew. I want him ’cause 
he’s the one she is carin’ the most about. 
She gin up us for him, and this won’t be no 
home for her without him.” 

Abel arose and went where his wife was 


260 


THE BELL COW 


sitting, put his arms around the frail little 
form and placed a kiss upon the white fore- 
head, then left the room, muttering to him- 
self, — ^^It’s orful hard tew gin in.’^ 

She did not move. She could not compre- 
hend what this change meant. It was the 
first time he had kissed her since — since — 
she tried to think when he had kissed her last, 
but it was so far in the past that she could 
not remember. Still she sat staring into 
vacancy. 

The old man wandered out into the shady 
orchard. His eyes sought the little rustic 
cottage far up the valley. ^^I^m wantin^ my 
Pauline tew come hum. I^m gittin^ old, and 
I can’t live much longer if I don’t hear her 
laughin’ and singin’ jest as she uster. I 
want her back with Mother and me, — yis, 
and her bebby and him tew. I guess the 
preacher is right, arter all. I guess the 
preacher is right.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


The Rose Arbor. 

A TRAVELER stood at the forks of a road 
undecided as to which one would lead him to 
his desired destination. That he had traveled 
far could be seen by the dust on his clothes, 
and his shoes, which were torn and tattered 
by the stones in the roadway. 

^^I wonder which is the right road,^^ he 
pondered, as he leaned heavily upon a stick 
which he was carrying. Not that he was 
aged, but he had a haggard look like one 
wasted by a long sickness. His face seemed 
old with weariness, yet young with hope. 
One might call him handsome, for he had the 
figure of an athlete and he was tall, with 
manly shoulders and a head like an Apollo. 

^^If I but knew which road to take,^^ he 
said. ^^The valley is surely not a great way 
off, but a mistake would lead me miles out 
of my way. After all these long months of 
absence, I must get back to the valley to-day. 


262 


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I must find my way, — well, I will trust to 
luck,^’ and on he started, taking the most 
traveled road. 

He journeyed onward, occasionally resting 
by the wayside, until he gained the summit of 
the hill, where he had a view of the valley 
below. 

Thank God. Thank God, I have made no 
mistake. It is home! Home!’^ Yes, it was 
the same peaceful little valley, dotted here 
and there with quaint old-fashioned houses 
snuggling among stately trees. In the green 
pasture fields, snowy white lambs gamboled, 
bleating, to their mothers. Far up the valley 
he could faintly see a small vine-covered 
cottage, — yes, and there was the rose arbor 
by the garden gate, all red with autumn 
tinted leaves, standing out plainly and beck- 
oning him home. Faintly floating to him 
on the breeze, came the quaint music of the 
Bell Cow, as she grazed peacefully far away 
in the rolling pasture land. 

^^What a part the old Bell Cow always 
plays in our joys and sorrows,” he murmured. 

When I was listening to Mother^s last 
words, from far away came the pathetic 


THE BELL COW 


263 


tinkle of the bell as in sympathy; then, when 
my Pauline gave me her first kiss, the notes 
of the bell came joyously from the pasture 
field. You are a part of our country life, old 
bell, and it seems that whatever our moods, 
your music is always echoing in sympathy. 

He began to descend the slope, his eager 
eyes looking here and there, endeavoring to 
catch some glimpse of what he might find. 
As he came to a curve in the path, he could 
see the cottage door. It was ajar. Surely 
it had a welcome look. Ah, yes, there the 
lazy old cat lay dozing in the sunshine, the 
same as when he left. Then a fear came to 
him. Who may be living there now ! They 
may be gone.” A dread came upon him; he 
did not wish to enter the cottage just now; 
he would go into the rose arbor where he had 
sat so many days with his dear old mother. 
Then the thought came that perhaps her 
spirit was guiding him to-day, and had 
hovered near and guarded the aged father and 
Pauline while he had been gone. 

As he passed by the house to the garden 
path, he saw Pauline sitting in the vine-cov- 
ered archway, rocking her tiny babe to and 


264 


THE BELL COW 


fro in a little wicker cradle. The hot blood 
rushed to his brow, bringing back the color of 
youth to his handsome face. 

“My wife! My Pauline,’^ he murmured, 
as his chest heaved with deep emotion; 
“ Little mother, how had I best let you know? 
You have suffered, too,’’ he thought, as he 
noticed the change these few months had 
made. 

As he stood watching, Pauline began to sing 
a plaintive little cradle-song. “Hush-a-bye, 
baby, Daddie will come to us soon. Hush- 
a-bye, baby, — ” The song stopped abruptly, 
and the golden head sank on the little cradle. 
“Oh, baby dear, we get so tired of waiting; 
don’t we dearie? He must come back to us. 
We cannot wait any longer. Herbert, Her- 
bert, my love, come back to baby and me! 
Come back!” She threw out her pretty arms 
and they closed around Herbert’s neck; for, as 
she spoke, he had stolen closer and closer, 
not being able to resist the plaintive calling. 
All thoughts of saving her a shock had been 
forgotten. 

“Oh, I knew you would come! I knew 
you would!” she cried, as she clung to him 


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laughing and crying like a happy child. 
“Aunt Betsy told me every day that we 
would bring you back, loving you so much 
and sending you thoughts of love, never 
doubting but that you would return. But 
you are ill,’^ she continued, looking him 
squarely in the face. “ Tell me, Herbert, how 
it happened. 

“Not now, dearest. I have been ill, but 
now I am only weary from my journey. I 
will tell you all about it some other time. 
Just let me take this little mite into my arms 
and see how it seems to be a daddy.’^ 

She took the babe from its little cradle, and 
placed it in its father^s arms. He drew the 
little face to his lips and the tiny hands 
clutched at his cheek, instinctively claiming 
him. 

Half an hour later, old Benjamin Hover, 
hearing voices, came from the garden and 
found them sitting in the shelter of the rose 
vines with the cradle before them. A great 
joy lighted the dim old eyes, as with trembhng 
voice he greeted Herbert, — “My boy, my 
boy! Ye aire home at last!^^ and soon he 
continued, — “ It makes me ten years younger. 


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Mebby Fll be great-grandfather yit, I am a 
feelin’ so young and happy again/^ 

The day ended and night drew its mantle 
around them. Herbert, after the many 
months, was back again in his little bed 
chamber, and as he lay listening to the con- 
tented breathing, the golden head upon his 
arm as she slept, a whip-poor-will came to 
the orchard and sang a serenade. In her 
slumbers now and again her dainty hand 
would steal to his face to be certain that he 
was really there; then a sigh of contentment 
would tell him that she was happier than 
ever before in his love. Far into the night 
he lay with wide open eyes, dreading to close 
them for fear he would awaken and find it all 
a dream. 

At last the whip-poor-will returned to the 
woodland, and its notes came softly with a 
soothing sound, and Herbert's eyes slowly 
closed. He kissed the little hand as it stole 
once more to his face, and he murmured, It 
is good to love and be loved, for love is the 
greatest thing in the world.^' 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 


Through the Meadowland. 

The days passed quietly at the little cot- 
tage. None came to disturb the happy 
occupants, and the three had little care for 
others just now. It was like one coming back 
from the dead when Herbert returned home, 
and the old man and Pauline were intoxicated 
with joy. 

No outsider knew of his home coming. 
Aunt Betsy had not called, as she knew 
Pauline was getting along alone very nicely; 
and just at this time Aunt Betsy was a very 
busy woman. 

Herbert had given them as nearly as possible 
an account of what had transpired dur- 
ing his absence. After carrying Pauline 
through the woods in the intense heat and 
smoke, things became confused in his mind. 
He remembered faintly that Pauline pleaded 
with him to go away and allow her to return 
alone; then he could recall dimly her slipping 


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away in the darkness and his following her 
calling; but his brain was in a whirl and a 
dancing light was before his eyes. He wan- 
dered on, finally reaching the little railroad 
station. In a dazed way he could recall that 
the road ran through Ginnytown and would 
take him home again. He boarded the 
train, and all the long night he rode, weary 
and sick. He seemed to be in a burning 
forest with the hot sparks and smoke all 
around him, and the sound of falling trees 
ringing in his ears, as the train sped forward. 

When morning came, he was far away in 
a distant city and not able to raise his head. 
He was taken to a hospital where he lay in a 
stupor. At times he aroused and called for 
Pauline; then he would fall back exhausted, 
and so he fought the weary weeks away. 

At last consciousness came again, and a 
pretty girl in a dainty muslin dress and cap 
was bending over him. He tried for days to 
tell her his story, but she insisted that he must 
wait until he became stronger. So he lingered, 
each day getting more anxious to return lest 
some misfortune should befall Pauline. 

At last they informed him that he might 


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269 


take the journey. Then, to his consternation, 
he was told that he had been ill for months. 
He started at once. His money took him 
part way; then came three days journeying 
on foot across the country before reaching 
home again. Now the sorrow remained that 
he had gone away. 

'^Oh, Pauline,” he said, ^^if fate had only 
led me back to the valley, instead of to the 
railroad, how much suffering it would have 
saved you. Why did it decree that I should 
so disgrace us all?” 

She put her arms around him; ^^Dear 
Herbert,” she replied, see now it was I 
who made the mistake. I was frantic for 
your safety. It was all my fault. I did 
not have eyes to see you were so ill.” 

^^Well, little wife, let^s take Aunt Betsy^s 
advice and not worry over things that are 
past. If they want to come here and arrest 
me for something I did not do, let them. It 
will not make me the worse. It was almost 
like confessing guilt — my going away— but 
lePs hope for the best and wait.” 

They strolled down to the little brook that 
seemed to sing a welcome to Herbert as they 


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approached. He caught her in his arms, and, 
jumping from stone to stone, gained the op- 
posite bank, then they wandered through 
the meadows hand in hand like two happy 
children. 

As they strolled on over the grassy slope, a 
thin little woman drove up the winding road 
toward the cottage. She urged the little 
hollow-backed mare along as though she 
were in great haste. An anxious smile played 
about her thin lips and as she drew near the 
cottage, her face was radiant with great 
expectation. 

She alighted at the little white gate and 
hurried up the pathway breathlessly. After 
knocking several times at the door, she started 
around the house, meeting old Benjamin in 
the garden path. 

^^Why, Mary Desire!’^ he exclaimed in 
great surprise — What on airth made ye 
come here? Hes Abel passed away, or some- 
thin’-nuther? 

Where is Pauline?’^ she asked excitedly, 
ignoring his question. 

^^They be in the medder, — he and her. 
They are jest like tew glad childem, a singin’ 


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271 


and a laughin’ jest zif tha wa’n’t no sich thing 
as trouble anywhere.” 

^^And the baby?” faltered Mrs. Hutton. 

I want tew see the baby.” 

Old Benjamin drew his bent form up in a 
sort of strut. 

^^Ye want tew see my grandchild, dew ye? 
that ye and Abel ain’t ownin’. I’m takin’ 
care on’t jest now. I don’t mind yer seein’ it 
if ye ain’t ha’sh with it. It’s in the rose arbor.” 

The two old people trotted around the 
house, and the baby was soon settled in its 
grandmother’s arms. 

Don’t ye dast tew drop that bebby on its 
head and make it foolish. Mis’ Hutton. We 
aire glad about our bebby and ain’t allowin’ 
ever’body tew handle it,” boasted Benjamin, 
when alas. Aunt Betsy was the only outsider 
who had offered to caress the child. 

Mrs. Hutton could not be squelched. She 
rocked to and fro with the little armfull and 
hummed a cradle-song which came back to 
her from out the dim, distant past. She 
seemed to forget the old man’s presence. On 
her face was a far away look, and a tear 
glistened in her eye. 


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Old Abel Hutton trudged out on the turn- 
pike after his wife had driven away. ^^Tug 
might bust. Mary Desire ain^t no driver. 
Guess I better santer along arter her a ways 
tew see she ^tends tew her knittin^’’ 

It did not once occur to Abel that in these 
many years he had never thought of tugs 
breaking, nor had he worried about his wife^s 
getting upset; but he tried to make himself 
believe, as he sauntered along, that she was not 
used to horses and must be watched. 

He stopped a moment at the end of the 
lane. Old Sarie might git tew kickin^ 
tew,’^ he said, forgetful of the fact that Sarah 
was twenty-five years old and had not at- 
tempted to lift her feet very high in many a 
long year. On he trudged until he came in 
front of the cottage; then he admitted to 
himself, ^^It’s orful hard tew gin in,’^ and 
started up the winding path. 

Receiving no response at the door, he 
walked through the cottage, and came upon 
his wife and Benjamin seated in the arbor. 

The old frightened look came into Mrs. 
Hutton^s face, but when she saw how meekly 
he was advancing, her fears subsided. 


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273 


But not so with old Benjamin. He brustled 
up ready for battle, feeling sure that the old 
man^s appearance there, after so long an 
absence, meant no good to the household. 

^^Ye old scamp he exclaimed, shaking 
a trembling fist at Abel. ^^What hev ye 
come snoopin’ around my premises for? I 
ain’t a wantin’ ye here. Ye hev alus ben a 
mean old skunk tew all on us, and if ye step 
a foot nigher. I’ll hit ye. Consarn yer hide if 
I don’t!” 

Old Abel came on, unheeding the terrible 
threats. Benjamin hurried to the archway, 
and stood shaking with rage. ^H’ll belt ye 
like timeration if ye come nigh that bebby, 
Abel. I’ll gin ye a orful belt right between 
the eyes. Ye consarned old rip!” 

^^I’m grandfather on’t, ain’t I?” Abel 
meekly asked, stopping and looking wistfully 
into the arbor. ^^I want tew see Pauline’s 
bebby.” 

^^Ye ain’t grandfather tew nothin’ but 
meanness; and the bebby ain’t ownin’ ye 
as sich. Ye built yer fence ontew my land. 
Ye know it, tew, and alus hev. I hain’t 
forgot it nuther. Ye jest better be a makin’ 


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tracks back hum afore I pounce on ye and 
gin ye a orful welt in the sore plixes.” 

Ye can move yer fence a foot on my land 
if ye want tew, Benjamin, for jest as many 
years as ye say I hev ben on yourn/’ He 
hesitated a moment, and then added softly, 
hev gin in, Benjamin/^ 

don^t know what ye mean by ^gin in/ 
If ye mean ye aire goin’ tew git in the rose 
house, ye ainT — ^ye mean old slink/^ 

At this point of the controversy, Pauline 
and Herbert came upon the scene, and stood 
aside to hear what was going on. 

“I am a meaninV^ said Abel, ^Hhat I know 
who sot the fire that burned my woods. It 
ware the tramp that died in the road. I ware 
with him when he died, and he gin me this 
^ere,’^ and Abel handed Benjamin the little 
worn book, incidentally getting a little nearer 
the arbor and peering in at the baby in his 
wife^s arms. She held it up so he could see 
it, and he, forgetting, started in. 

^^Ye stop right where ye be, Abel! 1^11 
swat ye orful if ye don’t!’’ 

^^Thismornin’,” continued Abel, fetched 
the preacher that married Pauline and Herbert 


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275 


from the depot. He hes come tew tell 
the neighbors what cussed fools they hev ben, 
a talkin’ and lyin’ about all on us.” 

Pauline and Herbert came in with a rush. 
This good news was too great for them to 
stand aside quietly and listen any longer. 
Pauline embraced her mother, and Abel 
held out his hand shamefacedly to Her- 
bert. 

Ain’t it enough for me tew gin in, when 
it ware so hard, or be ye goin’ tew make me 
tell ye so?” 

Why, no. Daddy,” said Herbert, Let’s not 
blame anyone. It was all a mistake; every- 
body’s fault, and nobody’s fault. Let’s forget 
it.” 

He shook the extended hand heartily ; then 
went into the rose arbor and brought out the 
cooing babe and put it into the old man’s 
arms. The old lips quivered as he looked at 
the tiny bit of humanity, and he turned to his 
wife with a faint smile. ^Ht seems jest es if 
time hed turned back eighteen year, and this 
ware our lee tie Pauline.” Then turning to the 
young people, he continued, want ye all 
tew come hum tew live. Ye can set fires, git 


276 


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married or anythin\ I want ye tew come 
hum with Mother and me/^ 

'^Oh, goodness, father exclaimed Pauline, 
cannot go home to live; but we are near, 
and can go every day, and you and mother 
can come here often. Won^t that do?^’ 

suppose it will hev tew,’^ said Abel 
mournfully, “but I want ye tew come hum 
airly tew-morror mornin’, ^cause Jerry Peters 
is goin^ to be there tew talk business with 
Herbert and me. He offers six thousand 
dollars for the shale knoll where the line 
fence jines. He wants tew build a brick 
works. He will gin us three thousand 
apiece, so I told him afore I come over here 
that, if Herbert ware satisfied with the price, 
he could make out my share of the check tew 
Pauline, for I hain^t gin ye any weddin’ 
present yit.’’ 

“Benjamin,’^ he continued, turning to the 
old man, who after his excitement was sitting 
wearily on the bench, “I would like tew hev 
ye come over with the children. I won’t call 
ye names, nor gin ye a swat between the 
eyes.” 

“ Thank ye. Thank ye,” Benjamin replied ; 


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277 


ainT holdin^ no grudge sence I hear how 
things be, and I hev changed my mind about 
the line fence/’ 

The lazy old mare poked homeward, drag- 
ging the old buggy, the two occupants sitting 
silently within. After they had driven some 
distance, Mary Desire remarked, think 
Pauline hes a rill nice baby — don’t ye think 
so, Abel?” 

^^Yis,” he answered, — ^^did ye notice how 
w illi n’ it ware tew let me hold it? Who dew 
ye think it takes arter, Mary Desire?” 

think it takes arter his side,” she an- 
swered, glancing up timidly. 

“Why, my sakes! Ye don’t think it looks 
like its grandfather Hover, dew ye? The 
humbly old critter?” 

“No. I mean Herbert,” she responded. 

“ Wa’al, mebby it does, but I ware a hopin’ 
mebby ye thought it looked like me.” 

“Land sakes, no,” she answered absently 
— “I think it is a rill pritty leetle creeter.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Thanksgiving Night. 

The chill of autumn was now in the air, and 
the ^Hrost was on the pumpkin/^ Ebenezer 
Cronk’s daughter had come down from Ginny- 
town to spend Thanksgiving with her father 
and stepmother, and the children had each 
been allowed to invite a playmate for the day. 
When the visitors were gone and evening 
came. Uncle Eb built a wood fire in the old 
fireplace to crackle and sputter a gay ac- 
companiment to his evening stories. 

^^Hevin’ turkey tew-day,^’ said he, re- 
minds me of when I wus a young man. Twus 
all woods ’round here then. One day I 
found a wild turkey’s nest, an’ I brought the 
aigs hum an’ put um under a settin’ hen. 
Jest one aig hatched, an’ that one leetle turkey 
was so durned wild, I hed tew clip its wings 
tew keep it from flyin’ away. One day my 
wife cooked a chicken, an’ she threw th’ head 
an’ wings out intew th’ back yard; an’ that 


THE BELL COW 


279 


turkey wus so clever that it fastened th^ wings 
of th’ chicken ontew itself, an’ flew away an’ 
lit up in a tree a hunderd feet high, but it hit 
agin’ a limb an’ lost off one wing. I clum up 
th’ tree, an clum clear out on th’ end of th’ 
limb an’ grabbed th’ turkey by th’ laigs — but 
jest then th’ limb broke, an’ I fell so fur an’ 
struck orful hard, an’ wus unconscious so 
long that when I come tew, I wus jest a 
holdin’ th’ skeleton of th’ turkey in my hand — 
an’ I must hev struck settin’ down and kinda 
squshed tewgether, ’cause fer more’n a year 
’twa’n’t more’n four inches from where I set 
down tew th’ back o’ my neck.” 

^^’Nother story! ’Nother story!” shouted 
the children. 

^'Nuzzer tory!” came from little Christo- 
pher, sitting on Aunt Betsy’s lap, taking it 
for granted that whatever the other children 
wanted, he also wanted. 

Wa’al,” said Uncle Eb. 

^^One ’bout bears!” chimed in Willie 
Wooster. 

^^One ’bout bearsch!” followed Christo- 
pher. 

^^Wa’al,” continued Uncle Eb, ‘^when I 


280 


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fust come here, th’ bears ware orful fierce. 
When they ketched a boy, they jest et up his 
sweetbreads an’ a leetle o’ the dark meat, an’ 
’en left him an’ went lookin’ fer another boy. 
I remember one winter that wus orful cold; 
ever’ night it ware way down below zero. 
Most all th’ old bachelors died off that winter, 
most on ’em froze tew death a sleepin’ alone. 
Alus on a cold winter, bears aire more fierce 
an’ sassy than on mild winters, ’cause their 
hair grows long, an’ when it bristles out it 
makes um look an’ ack more ugly. 

Wa’al, one day I ware a goin’ through th’ 
woods tew th’ mill; th’ road ware broke four 
feet wide, an’ th’ snow ware orful deep, an’ 
I see a bear cornin’ right in the path. Wa’al, 
I didn’t know jest what tew dew, but I wa’n’t a 
goin’ tew play coward, so I jest went right 
’long, an he came to’rds me with his back 
humped up, an’ a growlin’, an’ his mouth 
open about tew feet. When I got tew him, 
he growled wuss an’ wuss, an’ opened his 
mouth wider an’ wider, an’ jest as he gin a 
lunge fer me, I gin a lunge fer him, and my 
galluses busted a button off from my pan- 
taloons, and the button flew like blazes and 


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281 


hit the bear, right between the eyes and 
killed him deader than a door nail. 

^^But I want tew tell ye ’bout th’ time I 
hed a gittin’ beams fer my house. Fust tree 
I fell stood jest where my house does now. 
It ware a big tree and fell acrost the ravine, 
an’ wus twenty feet from the ground in th’ 
middle. How tew hew it I didn’t know, but 
I commenced at one end, an’ when I got out 
a ways, I got under the log an’ jumped up like 
blixen. I found I could jump orful high, so 
I kept right on jumpin’. I’d squat clean 
down tew the ground an’ take a long breath 
an’ git my ax all ready, then I’d gin a orful 
jump, an’ when I flew up by the log, I’d gin 
it a clip with th’ ax, an’ then when I come 
back down agin, I gin it tew clips more, an’ I 
got it hewed in an hour, an’ that wus the fust 
beam fer my house.” 

^^Now tell us ’bout th’ pigs an’ th’ punken,” 
pleaded Salvation. 

^^’Bout pigsch an’ punkich,” added Chris- 
topher. 

^'Oh, ye leetle rascals! I tell ye that ever’ 
night, an’ I’m a gittin’ orful sick o’ that 
story, — pesky sick on’t.” 


282 


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Ole muzzer pigsch in punkich saysch 
Weenk! Weenk! Weenk!^’ said little Christo- 
pher. 

Tell it, Ebenezer, the children dew like tew 
hear it so/^ said Betsy. 

^^Wa’al, one summer I wus orful busy, 
hevin^ all my work tew dew alone, an^ I 
didnT hev time tew feed my porker, so I let 
her run loose. I hed planted a field of punk- 
ens by th’ river, an^ she uster be down in th’ 
punken field quite a bit. The punkens growd 
orful, an’ when fall come they ware most es 
big es houses. One day I went down tew 
th’ field a lookin’ fer my pig, but I couldn’t 
find nary a track o’ her, so I thought most 
likely she’d gone tew th’ woods for th’ winter. 
So I went tew getherin’ th’ punkens. Some 
o’ th’ vines reached clear acrost th’ river, an’ 
I begun a pullin’ em back, an’ es I wus a 
pullin’ away at um, I hearn a ^ Weenk, weenk, 
weenk!’ cornin’ from a big punken that hed 
jest went kersplash in tew the other side of th’ 
river — an’ when I pulled it acrost, there wus 
th’ old sow in th’ inside of th’ punken, an’ 
she hed eight leetle pigs! She’d carried 
straw in an’ set uphouse-keepin’, knowin’ well 


THE BELL COW 


283 


that when it got tew be fall, Fd be a getherin' 
th^ punkens, an^ would pull her acrost th' 
river. She wus orful glad tew git hum, fer, 
as soon as she got nigh enough an^ seen Twas 
me, she come tew th^ door she hed made in 
th’ punken, an^ turnin^ sideways, waved her 
tail at me orful happy like. 

She hed a bushy tail, an^ sometimes when 
I uster go tew th^ punkenfield arter her, when 
Fd call — ^ Come porker ! Come porker ! ^ sheM 
wave her tail instid o^ gruntin^ — in case she 
hed her mouth full — fer she ware a orful 
polite sow. Wa’al, es soon es she got tew 
th^ shore, she come right out where I stood, 
a clucken^ tew her leetle pigs, an^ they all 
come a trottin^ out an^ smilin’, an’ then she 
hed them all stand in a row an’ sing in pig- 
talk: 

^ Good-momin’ — Good-mornin’ tew ye.’ 

^^Then the mother porker said — ^Weenk! 
Weenk! Weenk!’ an they all gin me a 
leetle bow, an’ all marched back intew th’ 
punken, an’ she went up tew th’ pigpen tew 
see if it ware ready fer winter.” 

Silence fell upon the little party, as Uncle 
Eb finished. The interested children sat with 


284 


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mouths wide open. Salvation at last broke 
the stillness. 

^'Did Mrs. Sow have a husband livin’?’’ 

^^Wa’al, — er — yis. Now I remember, her 
husband went intew th’ army,” he answered, 
giving Aunt Betsy a sly wink. 

Did he go all alone? ” asked Willie Wooster. 

^^No,” answered Uncle Eb; ^^he hed a com- 
panion. They roomed tewgether — his name 
wus Beans.” 

“Mozzer pigsch wave tailsch an’ saych 
Weenk! Weenk!” added Christopher. 

Now ye leetle rascals, ye must be a goin’ tew 
bed. Sand man orter ben here a spell ago.” 

Willie Wooster and Salvation arose from 
where they were lounging in front of the fire- 
place to kiss the old man goodnight. 

wus jest a thinkin’ I’ve kissed ye good- 
night so many times, I think I’ll be trouncin’ 
ye tew-night instid.” 

^^All right!” they shouted, and the boy 
threw himself across Uncle Eb’s knee. Uncle 
Eb made a great pretense of giving him a 
sound spanking. Willie kicked up his legs 
and screamed, which brought forth shouts of 
laughter from the other children. 


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285 


When Willie Wooster was just getting 
settled in bed, Betsy Cronk came in carrying 
little Christopher, whom she had gotten ready 
for the night before the smouldering fire. 
Salvation followed, as Aunt Betsy always 
had a goodnight story for the children. 

^^Now, Christopher,’^ she said, ^^say your 
little goodnight, an’ mother’ll be a tellin’ 
a story.” 

After many puckers and grunts, getting 
ready, the little lips murmured — “Now I 
laysch me down t’ schleeps I praysch de Lod 
my souLn-body. I sud diesch ’fore I waksch, 
praysch de Lod my soul-n-body; an’ zis I 
praysch fo’ pity saksch.” 

“Now childern. I’m a goin’ tew tell you 
’bout a old maid who lived in a cottage all 
’lone. Her mother’n father wus dead. She 
wa’n’t ’zactly lonesome, but she felt kinda 
skittish when she would wake up in th’ night 
an’ hear th’ wind a blowin’ through th’ trees, 
an’ knowed she ware all alone. An’ when 
tramps come tew her back door, she alus gin 
um bread, but yit it made her feel skittish 
when they come, an no man ’round; so she 
went tew one of th’ neighbors who hed a man 


286 


THE BELL COW 


but he hed parted. An^ this old maid got 
some of his old clothes an’ boots, an’ she hung 
um ’round her back door so tramps would 
think a man lived there. Arter that, she 
didn’t feel quite so skittish, but yit she 
wanted comp’ny, an’ not live alone. Fin’ly a 
leetle girl come from th’ city, an’ she made th’ 
old maid very happy; then a leetle curly- 
headed boy come, an’ she wus happier still; 
then fin’ly a baby come, an’ ’en a dear old 
man. An’ now it seems zif she hes all th’ 
love in her house it kin pos’bly hold, an’ she’s 
happy all day long, an’ never skittish no more.” 

As Betsy finished her story, she found she 
had no listeners. The girl leaning against 
her shoulder, was fast asleep; Willie Wooster 
was breathing hard upon his pillow, and the 
baby arms about her neck falling loosely, 
told her that he also was in slumberland. She 
lay the golden head gently down on the pil- 
low beside the black curly one, and as she 
stooped to give the baby a goodnight kiss, the 
little lips murmured — ^^De Lod bres Muzzer, 
Fazzer, Salvation’n Willie — an’ zis I praysch 
fo’ pity saksch.” 


THE END. 









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